THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  ROLL-CALL 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 


By    ARNOLD    BENNETT 

NOVELS 

THE  PRETTY  LADY 

THE  UON'S  shake 

THESE  TWAIN 

CLAYHANGER 

HILDA  LESSWAYS 

THE  OLD  WaVES'  TALE 

DENRY  THE  AUDACIOUS 

THE  OLD  ADAM 

HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

THE  MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  BOOK  OF  CARLOTTA 

BUEIF.D  ALIVE 

A  GREAT  MAN 

LEONORA 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

A  MAN  FROM  THE  NORTH 

ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  GLIMPSE 

THE  CITY  OF  PLEASURE 

THE  GRAND  BABYLON  HOTEL 

HUGO 

THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

POCKET  PHILOSOPHIES 

THE  author's  CRAFT 

MARRIED  LIFE 

FRIENDSHIP  AND  HAPPINESS 

HOW  TO  LI\^  ON  24  HOURS  A  DAY 

THE  HUMAN  MACHINE 

LITERARY  TASTE 

MENTAL  EFFIC^ENCY 

PLAYS 

THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE 
CUPID  AND  COMMONSENSE 
WHAT  THE  PUBUC  WANTS 
POLITE  FARCES 
THE  HONEYMOON 

IN  COLLABORATION  WITH  EDWARD  KNOBLAUCH 
MILESTONES 

MISCELLANEOUS 
paris  nights 

the  truth  about  an  author 
lirkrtyI 

OVER  there:  war  SCENES 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THE 

ROLL  CALL 


BY 


ARNOLD  BENNETT 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  LION'S  SHARE.  "  "THE  OLD  WIVES' 

TALE,"  "CLAYHANGER,"  "HILDA  LESSWAYS," 

"THESE  TWAIN,"  ETC..  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1918, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANT 


COPYRIGHT,  1018 
BY  THE  FRANK  A.  MUNSEY  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


3 


CONTENTS 


• 


PART  ONE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     The  New  Lodging 9 

II     Marguerite 30 

III  The  Charwoman 66 

IV  The  Luncheon 82 

V     The  Tea 108 

VI  The  Dinner 136 

VII  The  Rupture 173 

VIII  Inspiration 210 

IX  Competition 242 

PART  TWO 

X     The  Triumph 297 

XI     The  Roll-Call 338 

XII     In  the  Machine       ......    i.,    ,.      .      .  368 


OJLJLkJOO 


CKT/^r  TO  ft 


THE  ROLL-CALL 


PART     ONE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    NEW    LODGING 


In  the  pupils'  room  of  the  offices  of  Lucas  &  En- 
wright,  architects,  Russell  Square,  Bloomsbury,  George 
Edwin  Cannon,  an  articled  pupil,  leaned  over  a  large 
drawing-board  and  looked  up  at  Mr.  Enwright,  the 
head  of  the  firm,  who  with  cigarette  and  stick  was 
on  his  way  out  after  what  he  called  a  good  day's  work. 
It  was  past  six  o'clock  on  an  evening  in  early  July, 
1901.  To  George's  right  was  an  open  door  leading  to 
the  principals'  room,  and  to  his  left  another  open  door 
leading  to  more  rooms  and  to  the  staircase.  The  lofty 
chambers  were  full  of  lassitude;  but  round  about 
George,  who  was  working  late,  there  floated  the  tonic 
vapour  of  conscious  virtue.  Haim,  the  factotum,  could 
be  seen  and  heard  moving  in  his  cubicle  which  guarded 
the  offices  from  the  stairs.  In  the  rooms  shortly  to 
be  deserted  and  locked  up,  and  in  the  decline  of  the 
day,  the  three  men  were  drawn  together  like  survivors. 

"  I  gather  you're  going  to  change  your  abode,"  said 
Mr.  Enwright,  having  stopped. 

"  Did  Mr.  Orgrcave  tell  you  then?  "  George  asked. 

"  Well,  he  didn't  exactly  tell  me  ...   " 

John  Orgreave  was  Mr.  Enwright's  junior  partner; 
and  for  nearly  two  years,  since  his  advent  in  London 
from  the  Five  Towns,  George  had  lived  with  Mr.  and 

9 


10  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Mrs.  Orgreave  at  Bedford  Park.  The  Orgreaves,  too, 
sprang  from  the  Five  Towns.  John's  people  and 
George's  people  were  closely  entwined  in  the  local  an- 
nals. 

Pupil  and  principal  glanced  discreetly  at  one  an- 
other, exchanging  in  silence  vague,  malicious,  unutter- 
able critical  verdicts  upon  both  John  Orgreave  and  his 
wife. 

"  Well,  I  am !  "  said  George  at  length. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to?  " 

"  Haven't  settled  a  bit,"  said  George.  "  I  wish  I 
could  live  in  Paris." 

"  Paris  wouldn't  be  much  good  to  you  yet,"  Mr.  En- 
wright  laughed  benevolently. 

"  I  suppose  it  wouldn't.     Besides  of  course  — " 

George  spoke  in  a  tone  of  candid  deferential  accept- 
ance, which  flattered  Mr.  Enwright  very  much,  for  it 
was  the  final  proof  of  the  prestige  which  the  grizzled 
and  wrinkled  and  peculiar  Fellow  and  Member  of  the 
Council  of  the  Royal  Institute  of  British  Architects 
had  acquired  in  the  estimation  of  that  extremely  inde- 
pendent, tossing  sprig,  George  Edwin  Cannon.  Mr. 
Enwright  had  recently  been  paying  a  visit  to  Paris, 
and  George  had  been  sitting  for  the  Intermediate  Ex- 
amination. "  You  can  join  me  here  for  a  few  days 
after  the  exam,  if  you  care  to,"  Mr.  Enwright  had  sent 
over.  It  was  George's  introduction  to  the  continent, 
and  the  circumstances  of  it  were  almost  ideal.  For  a 
week  the  deeply  experienced  connoisseur  of  all  the  arts 
had  had  the  fine,  eager,  responsive  virgin  mind  in  his 
power.  Day  after  day  he  had  watched  and  guided  it 
amid  entirely  new  sensations.  Never  had  Mr.  En- 
wright enjoyed  himself  more  purely,  and  at  the  close 
he  knew  with  satisfaction  that  he  had  put  Paris  in  a 
proper  perspective  for  George  and  perhaps  saved  the 


THE  NEW  LODGING  11 

youth  from  years  of  groping  misapprehension.  As  for 
George,  all  his  preconceived  notions  about  Paris  had 
been  destroyed  or  shaken.  In  the  quadrangles  of  the 
Louvre,  for  example,  Mr,  Enwright,  pointing  to  the 
under  part  of  the  stone  bench  that  foots  so  much  of 
the  walls,  had  said:  "Look  at  that  curve."  Nothing 
else.  No  ecstasies  about  the  sculptures  of  Jean  Gou- 
jon  and  Carpeaux,  or  about  the  marvellous  harmony 
of  the  East  facade!  But  a  flick  of  the  cane  towards 
the  half-hidden  moulding!  And  George  had  felt  with 
a  thrill  what  an  exquisite  curve  and  what  an  original 
curve  and  what  a  modest  curve  that  curve  was.  Sud- 
denly and  magically  his  eyes  had  been  opened.  Or  it 
might  have  been  that  a  deceitful  mist  had  rolled  away 
and  the  real  Louvre  been  revealed  in  its  esoteric  and  sole 
authentic  beauty.   .   .  . 

"Why  don't  you  try  Chelsea?"  said  Mr.  Enwright 
over  his  shoulder,  proceeding  towards  the  stairs. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Chelsea." 

"  You  were !  "  Mr.  Enwright  halted  again  for  an 
instant.  "  It's  the  only  place  in  London  where  the 
structure  of  society  is  anything  like  Paris.  Why,  dash 
it,  in  the  King's  Road,  the  grocers  know  each  other's 
business !  "  Mr.  Enwright  made  the  last  strange  re- 
mark to  the  outer  door,  and  vanished. 

"  Funny  cove !  "  George  commented  tolerantly  to  Mr. 
Haim,  who  passed  through  the  room  immediately  after- 
wards to  his  nightly  task  of  collecting  and  inspecting 
the  scattered  instruments  on  the  principal's  august 
drawing-board. 

But  Mr.  Haim,  though  possibly  he  smiled  ever  so 
little,  would  not  compromise  himself  by  an  endorsement 
of  the  criticism  of  his  employer.  George  was  a  mere 
incident  in  the  eternal  career  of  Mr.  Haim  at  Lucas 
and  Enwright's. 


12  THE  ROLL-CALL 

When  the  factotum  came  back  into  the  pupils' 
room  George  stood  up  straight  and  smoothed  his 
trousers  and  gazed  admiringly  at  his  elegant  bright 
socks. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  George  in  a  very  friendly  man- 
ner, "  you  live  somewhere  in  Chelsea,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Haim. 

"  Whereabouts,  if  it  isn't  a  rude  question?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Haim,  confidentially  and  benig- 
nantly,  captivated  by  George's  youthful  charm,  "  it's 
near  the  RedclifFe  Arms."  He  mentioned  the  RedclifFe 
Arms  as  he  might  have  mentioned  the  Bank,  Piccadilly 
Circus,  or  Gibraltar.  "  Alexandra  Grove.  No.  8. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  own  the  house." 

"  The  deuce  you  do  !  " 

"  Yes.  The  leasehold,  that  is,  of  course.  No  free- 
holds knocking  about  loose  in  that  district !  " 

George  saw  a  new  and  unsuspected  Mr.  Haim.  He 
■was  impressed.  And  he  was  glad  that  he  had  never 
broken  the  office  tradition  of  treating  Mr.  Haim  with  a 
respect  not  usually  accorded  to  factotums.  He  saw 
a  property-owner,  a  tax-payer,  and  a  human  being  be- 
hind the  spectacles  of  the  shuffling,  rather  shabby,  cere- 
monious familiar  that  pervaded  those  rooms  daily  from 
before  ten  till  after  six.  He  grew  curious  about  a 
living  phenomenon  that  hitherto  had  never  awakened 
his  curiosity. 

"Were  you  really  looking  for  accommodation?" 
demanded  Mr.  Haim  suavely. 

George  hesitated.      "  Yes." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  something  that  might  suit  you." 

Events,  disguised  as  mere  words,  seemed  to  George  to 
be  pushing  him  forward. 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  look  at  it,"  he  said.  He 
had  to  say  it:  there  was  no  alternative. 


THE  NEW  LODGING  13 

Mr.  Haim  raised  a  hand.  "  Any  evening  that  hap- 
pens to  be  convenient." 

«  What  about  to-night,  then.?  " 

"  Certain!}',"  Mr.  Haim  agreed.  For  a  moment 
George  apprehended  that  Mr.  Haim  was  going  to  in- 
vite him  to  dinner.  But  Mr.  Haim  was  not  going  to  in- 
vite him  to  dinner.  "About  nine,  shall  we  say.''"  he 
suggested  with  a  courtliness  softer  even  than  usual. 

Later  George  said  that  he  would  lock  up  the  office 
himself  and  leave  the  key  with  the  housekeeper. 

"  You  can't  miss  the  place,"  said  Mr.  Haim  on  leav- 
ing.    "  It's  between  the  Workhouse  and  the  RedclifFe." 


At  the  corner  dominated  by  the  Queen's  Elm,  which 
on  the  great  route  from  Piccadilly  Circus  to  Putney 
was  a  public-house  and  halt  second  only  in  importance 
to  the  Redcliffe  Arms,  night  fell  earlier  than  it  ought 
to  have  done,  owing  to  a  vast  rain-cloud  over  Chelsea. 
A  few  drops  descended,  but  so  warm  and  so  gently  that 
they  were  not  like  real  rain  and  sentimentalists  could 
not  believe  that  they  would  wet.  People,  arriving  mys- 
teriously out  of  darkness,  gathered  sparsely  on  the 
pavement,  lingered  a  few  moments,  and  were  swal- 
lowed by  omnibuses  that  bore  them  obscurely  away. 
At  intervals  an  individual  got  out  of  an  omnibus  and 
adventured  hurriedly  forth  and  was  lost  in  the  gloom. 
The  omnibuses,  all  white,  trotted  on  an  inward  curve  to 
the  pavement,  stopped  while  the  conductor,  with  hand 
raised  to  the  bell-string,  murmured  apathetically  the 
names  of  streets  and  of  public-houses,  and  then  they 
jerked  off  again  on  an  outward  curve  to  the  impatient 
double  ting  of  the  bell.  To  the  east  was  a  high  defile 
of  hospitals  and  to  the  west  the  Workhouse  tower 
faintly  imprinted  itself  on  the  sombre  sky. 


14  THE  ROLL-CALL 

The  drops  of  rain  grew  very  large  and  heavy,  and 
the  travellers,  instead  of  waiting  on  the  kerb,  with- 
drew to  the  shelter  of  the  wall  of  the  Queen's  Elm. 
George  was  now  among  the  group,  precipitated  like  the 
rest  as  it  were  out  of  the  solution  of  London.  George 
was  of  the  age  which  does  not  admit  rain,  or  which  be- 
lieves that  it  is  immune  from  the  usual  consequences  of 
exposure  to  rain.  When  advised,  especially  by  women, 
to  defend  himself  against  the  treacheries  of  the  weather, 
he  always  protested  confidentlj^  that  he  would  "  be  all 
right."  Thus  with  a  stick  and  a  straw  hat  he  would 
affront  terrible  dangers.  It  was  a  species  of  valour, 
which  the  event  often  justified.  Indeed  he  generally 
was  all  right.  But  to-night,  afoot  on  the  way  from 
South  Kensington  station  in  a  region  quite  unfamiliar 
to  him,  he  was  intimidated  by  the  slapping  menace 
of  the  big  drops.  Reality  faced  him.  His  scared 
thought  ran :  "  Unless  I  do  something  at  once  I  shall 
get  wet  through."  Impossible  to  appear  drenched  at 
old  Haim's !  So  he  had  abandoned  all  his  pretensions 
to  a  magical  invulnerability,  and  rushed  under  the  eave 
of  the  Queen's  Elm  to  join  the  omnibus  group. 

He  did  not  harmonise  with  the  omnibus  group,  being 
both  too  elegant  and  too  high-spirited.  His  proper 
role  in  the  circumstances  would  have  been  to  "  jump 
into  a  hansom  " ;  but  there  were  no  empty  hansoms, 
and  moreover,  for  certain  reasons  of  finance,  he  had 
sworn  off  hansoms  until  a  given  date.  He  regarded 
the  situation  as  "  rather  a  lark,"  and  he  somehow  knew 
that  the  group  understood  and  appreciated  and  per- 
haps resented  his  superior  and  tolerant  attitude.  An 
omnibus  rolled  palely  into  the  radiance  of  the  Queen's 
Elm  lamp,  the  horses'  flanks  and  the  lofty  driver's 
apron  gleaming  with  rain.  He  sprang  towards  the 
vehicle ;    the    whole    group    sprang.     "  Full    inside ! " 


THE  NEW  LODGING  15 

snapped  the  conductor  inexorabl3\  Ting,  ting!  It 
was  gone,  glimmering  with  its  enigmatic  load  into  the 
distance.  George  turned  again  to  the  wall,  humili- 
ated. It  seemed  wrong  that  the  conductor  should  have 
included  him  with  the  knot  of  common  omnibus- 
travellers  and  late  workers.  The  conductor  ought  to 
have  differentiated.  .  .  .  He  put  out  a  hand.  The  rain 
had  capriciously  ceased !  He  departed  gaily  and  tri- 
umphantly. He  was  re-endowed  with  the  magical  in- 
vulnerability. 

The  background  of  his  mind  was  variegated.  The 
incidents  of  the  tremendous  motor-car  race  from  Paris 
to  Berlin,  which  had  finished  nearly  a  week  earlier,  still 
glowed  on  it.  And  the  fact  that  King  Edward  VII 
had  driven  in  a  car  from  Pall  INIall  to  Windsor  Castle 
in  sixty  minutes  was  beautifully  present.  Then  he 
was  slightly  worried  concerning  the  Mediterranean 
Fleet.  He  knew  nothing  about  it,  but  as  a  good  citi- 
zen he  suspected  in  idle  moments,  like  a  number  of  other 
good  citizens,  that  all  was  not  quite  well  with  the  Medi- 
terranean Fleet.  As  for  the  war,  he  had  only  begun 
to  be  interested  in  the  war  within  the  last  six  months, 
and  already  he  was  sick  of  it.  He  knew  that  the  Boers 
had  just  wrecked  a  British  military  train,  and  his  atti- 
tude towards  such  methods  of  fighting  was  rather  se- 
vere and  scornful ;  he  did  not  regard  them  as  "  war." 
However,  the  apparent  permanence  of  the  war  was 
splendidly'  compensated  by  the  victory  of  the  brothers 
Doherty  over  the  American  lawn-tennis  champions  in 
the  Gentlemen's  Doubles  at  Wimbledon.  Who  could 
have  expected  the  brothers  to  win  after  the  defeat  of 
R.  H.  by  ;Mr.  Gore  in  the  Singles .?  George  had  most 
painfully  feared  that  the  Americans  would  conquer, 
and  their  overthrowing  b}^  the  thin  brothers  indicated 
to  George,  who  took  himself  for  a  serious  student  of 


16  THE  ROLL-CALL 

affairs,  that  Britain  was  continuing  to  exist  and  that 
the  new  national  self-depreciative  yearning  for  efficiency 
might  possibly  be  rather  absurd  after  all. 

In  the  midst  of  these  and  similar  thoughts,  and  of  in- 
numerable minor  thoughts  about  himself,  in  the  very 
centre  of  his  mind  and  occupying  nearly  the  whole  of 
it,  was  the  vast  thought,  the  obsession,  of  liis  own  poten- 
tial power  and  its  fulfilment.  George's  egotism  was 
terrific,  and  as  right  as  any  other  natural  phenomenon. 
He  had  to  get  on.  Much  money  was  included  in  his 
scheme,  but  simply  as  a  bye-product.  He  had  to  be  a 
great  architect,  and  —  equally  important  —  he  had 
to  be  publicly  recognised  as  a  great  architect,  and 
recognition  could  not  come  without  money.  For  him, 
the  entire  created  universe  was  the  means  to  his  end. 
He  would  not  use  it  unlawfully,  but  he  would  use  it. 
He  was  using  it,  as  well  as  he  yet  knew  how,  and  with  an 
independence  that  was  as  complete  as  it  was  unconscious. 
In  regard  to  matters  upon  which  his  instinct  had  not 
suggested  a  course  of  action,  George  was  always  ready 
enough  to  be  taught;  indeed  his  respect  for  an  expert 
was  truly  deferential.  But  when  his  instinct  had  begun 
to  operate  he  would  consult  nobody  and  consider  no- 
body, being  deeply  sure  that  infallible  wisdom  had  been 
granted  to  him.  (Nor  did  experience  seem  to  teach 
him  better.)  Thus,  in  the  affair  of  a  London  lodging, 
though  he  was  still  two  years  from  his  majority  and  had 
no  resources  save  the  purse  of  his  stepfather,  Edwin 
Clayhanger,  he  had  decided  to  leave  the  Orgreaves  with- 
out asking  or  even  informing  his  parents.  In  his  next 
letter  home  he  would  no  doubt  inform  them,  casually, 
of  what  he  meant  to  do  or  actually  had  done,  and  if 
objections  followed  he  would  honestly  resent  them. 

A  characteristic  example  of  his  independence  had 
happened  when  at  the  unripe  age  of  seventeen  he  left 


THE  NEW  LODGING  17 

the  Five  Towns  for  London.  Upon  his  mother's  mar- 
riage to  Edwin  Clayhanger  his  own  name  had  been  in- 
formally changed  for  him  to  Clayhanger.  But  a  few 
days  before  the  day  of  departure  he  had  announced 
that,  as  Clayhanger  was  not  his  own  name  and  that  he 
preferred  his  own  name,  he  should  henceforth  be  known 
as  "  Cannon,"  his  father's  name.  He  did  not  invite 
discussion.  Mr.  Clayhanger  had  thereupon  said  to  him 
privately  and  as  one  man  of  the  world  to  another: 
"  But  you  aren't  really  entitled  to  the  name  Cannon, 
sonny."  "  Why  ?"  "  Because  your  father  was  what's 
commonly  known  as  a  bigamist,  and  his  marriage  with 
your  mother  was  not  legal.  I  thought  I'd  take  this 
opportunity  of  telling  you.  You  needn't  say  anything 
to  your  mother  —  unless  of  course  you  feel  you  must." 
To  which  George  had  replied :  "  No,  I  won't.  But  if 
Cannon  was  my  father's  name  I  think  I'll  have  it  all 
the  same."  And  he  did  have  it.  The  bigamy  of  his 
father  did  not  apparently  affect  him.  Upon  further 
enquiry  he  learnt  that  his  father  might  be  alive  or  might 
be  dead,  but  that  if  alive  he  was  in  America. 

The  few  words  from  Mr.  Enwright  about  Chelsea 
had  sufficed  to  turn  Chelsea  into  Elysium,  Paradise,  al- 
most into  Paris.  No  other  quarter  of  London  was  in- 
habitable by  a  rising  architect.  As  soon  as  Haim  had 
gone  George  had  begun  to  look  up  Chelsea  in  the  office 
library,  and  as  Mr.  Enwright  happened  to  be  an  active 
Member  of  the  Society  for  the  Survey  of  the  Memorials 
of  Greater  London,  the  library  served  him  well.  In  an 
hour  and  a  half  he  had  absorbed  something  of  the 
historical  topography  of  Chelsea.  He  knew  that  the 
Fulham  Road  upon  which  he  was  now  walking  was  a 
boundary  of  Chelsea.  He  knew  that  the  Queen's  Elm 
public-house  had  its  name  from  the  tradition  that 
Elizabeth  had  once  sheltered  from  a  shower  beneath  an 


18  THE  ROLL-CALL 

elm  tree  which  stood  at  that  very  corner.  He  knew 
that  Chelsea  had  been  a  "  village  of  palaces,"  and  what 
was  the  function  of  the  Thames  in  the  magnificent  life 
of  that  village.  The  secret  residence  of  Turner  in 
Chelsea,  under  the  strange  alias  of  Admiral  Booth, 
excited  George's  admiration ;  he  liked  the  idea  of  liidden 
retreats  and  splendid  fanciful  pseudonyms.  But  the 
master-figure  of  Chelsea  for  George  was  Sir  Thomas 
More.  He  could  see  Sir  Thomas  More  walking  in  his 
majestic  garden  by  the  river  with  the  King's  arm  round 
his  neck,  and  Holbein  close  by,  and  respectful  august 
prelates  and  a  nagging  wife  in  the  background.  And 
he  could  see  Sir  Thomas  More  taking  his  barge  for  the 
last  journey  to  the  Tower,  and  Sir  Thomas  More's 
daughter  coming  back  in  the  same  barge  with  her 
father's  head  on  board.  Curious !  He  envied  Sir 
Thomas  More. 

"  Darned  bad  tower  for  a  village  of  palaces ! "  he 
thought,  not  of  the  Tower  of  London,  but  of  the  tower 
of  the  Workhouse  which  he  was  now  approaching.  He 
thought  he  could  design  an  incomparably  better  tower 
than  that.  And  he  saw  himself  in  the  future,  the  archi- 
tect of  vast  monuments,  strolling  in  a  grand  garden  of 
his  own  at  evening  with  other  distinguished  and  witty 
persons. 

But  there  were  high-sounding  names  in  the  history  of 
Chelsea  besides  those  of  More  and  Turner.  Not  names 
of  people!  Cremorne  and  Ranelagh!  Cremorne  to 
the  west  and  Ranelagh  to  the  east.  The  legend  of  these 
vanished  resorts  of  pleasure  and  vice  stirred  his  long- 
ings and  his  sense  of  romantic  beauty, —  especially 
Ranelagh  and  its  Rotunda.  ( He  wanted,  when  the  time 
came,  to  be  finely  vicious,  as  he  wanted  to  be  everything. 
An  architect  could  not  be  great  without  being  every- 


THE  NEW  LODGING  19 

thing.)  He  projected  himself  into  the  Rotunda,  with 
its  sixt}'  windows,  its  countless  refreshment-boxes,  its 
huge  paintings,  and  the  orchestra  in  the  middle,  and  the 
expensive  and  naughty  crowd  walking  round  and  round 
and  round  on  the  matting,  and  the  muffled  footsteps  and 
the  swish  of  trains  on  the  matting,  and  the  specious 
smiles  and  whispers,  and  the  blare  of  the  band  and  the 
smell  of  the  lamps  and  candles.  .  .  .  Earl's  Court  was  a 
poor,  tawdry,  unsightly  thing  after  that. 

When  he  had  passed  under  the  Workhouse  tower  he 
came  to  a  side-street  which,  according  to  Haim's  de- 
scription of  the  neighbourhood,  ought  to  have  been 
Alexandra  Grove.  The  large  lamp  on  the  corner,  how- 
ever, gave  no  indication,  nor  could  any  sign  be  seen 
in  the  darkness  on  the  blind  wall  of  either  of  the  corner- 
houses  in  Fulham  Road.  Doubtless  in  da3^time  the 
street  had  a  visible  label,  but  the  borough  authorities 
evidently  believed  that  night  endowed  the  stranger  with 
powers  of  divination.  George  turned  hesitant  down 
the  mysterious  gorge,  which  had  two  dim  lamps  of  its 
own,  and  which  ended  in  a  high  wall,  whereat  could  be 
descried  unattainable  trees, —  possibly  the  grove  of 
Alexandra.  Silence  and  a  charmed  stillness  held  the 
gorge,  while  in  Fulham  Road  not  a  hundred  yards  away 
omnibuses  and  an  occasional  hansom  rattled  along  in 
an  ordinary  world.  George  soon  decided  that  he  was 
not  in  Alexandra  Grove,  on  account  of  the  size  of  the 
houses.  He  could  not  conceive  Mr.  Haim  owning  one 
of  them.  They  stood  lofty  in  the  gloom,  in  pairs,  se- 
cluded from  the  pavement  b}'  a  stucco  garden-wall  and 
low  bushes.  They  were  double-fronted,  and  their  doors 
were  at  the  summit  of  flights  of  blanched  steps  that 
showed  through  the  bars  of  iron  gates.  They  had  three 
stories  above  a  basement.     Still,  he  looked  for  No.  8. 


20  THE  ROLL-CALL 

But  just  as  the  street  had  no  name,  so  the  houses  had 
no  numbers.  No.  16  alone  could  be  distinguished;  it 
had  figures  on  its  faintly  illuminated  fanlight.  He 
walked  back,  idly  counting. 

Then,  amid  the  curtained  and  shuttered  fa9ades,  he 
saw,  across  the  road,  a  bright  beam  from  a  basement. 
He  crossed  and  peeped  through  a  gate,  and  an  interior 
was  suddenly  revealed  to  him.  Near  the  window  of  a 
room  sat  a  young  woman  bending  over  a  table.  A 
gas-jet  on  a  bracket  in  the  wall,  a  few  inches  higher 
than  her  head  and  a  foot  distant  from  it,  threw  a  strong 
radiance  on  her  face  and  hair.  The  luminous  living 
picture,  framed  in  blackness  by  the  window,  instantly 
entranced  him.  All  the  splendid  images  of  the  past 
faded  and  were  confuted  and  invalidated  and  destroyed 
by  this  intense  reality  so  present  and  so  near  to  him. 
(Nevertheless,  for  a  moment  he  thought  of  her  as  the 
daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  More.)  She  was  drawing. 
She  was  drawing  with  her  whole  mind  and  heart.  At 
intervals,  scarcely  moving  her  head,  she  would  glance 
aside  at  a  paper  to  her  left  on  the  table.  .  .  .  She 
seemed  to  search  it,  to  drag  some  secret  out  of  it,  and 
then  she  would  resume  her  drawing.  She  was  neither 
dark  nor  fair ;  she  was  comely,  perhaps  beautiful ;  she 
had  beautiful  lips,  and  her  nose,  behind  the  nostrils, 
joined  the  cheek  in  a  lovely  contour,  like  a  tiny  bulb. 
Yes,  she  was  superb.  But  what  mastered  him  was  less 
her  fresh  physical  charm  than  the  rapt  and  extreme  vi- 
tality of  her  existing.  .  .  .  He  knew  from  her  gestures 
and  the  tools  on  the  table  that  she  could  be  no  amateur. 
She  was  a  professional.  He  thought :  Chelsea ! 
.  .  .  Marvellous  place,  Chelsea !  He  ought  to  have 
found  that  out  long  ago.  He  imagined  Chelsea  full  of 
such  pictures, —  the  only  true  home  of  beauty  and 
romance. 


THE  NEW  LODGING  21 

Then  the  impact  of  a  single  idea  startled  his  blood. 
He  went  hot.  He  flushed.  He  had  tingling  sensations 
all  down  his  back,  and  in  his  legs  and  in  his  arms.  It 
was  as  though  he  had  been  caught  in  a  dubious  situa- 
tion. Though  he  was  utterly  innocent,  he  felt  as 
though  he  had  something  to  be  ashamed  of.  The  idea 
was:  she  resembled  old  Haim,  facially!  Ridiculous 
idea!  But  she  did  resemble  old  Haim,  particularly  in 
the  lobal  termination  of  the  nose.  And  in  the  lips,  too. 
And  there  was  a  vague  general  resemblance.  Absurd! 
It  was  a  fancy.  .  .  .  He  would  not  have  cared  for  any- 
body to  be  watching  him  then,  to  surprise  him  watching 
her.  He  heard  unmistakable  footsteps  on  the  pave- 
ment. A  policeman  darkly  approached.  Policemen  at 
times  can  be  very  apposite.  George  moved  his  gaze  and 
looked  with  admirable  casualness  around. 

"  Officer,  is  this  Alexandra  Grove.?  "  (His  stepfather 
had  taught  him  to  address  all  policemen  as  "  officer.") 

"  It  is,  sir." 

"  Oh !     Well,  which  is  No.  8  ?     There're  no  numbers." 

"  You  couldn't  be  much  nearer  to  it,  sir,"  said  the  po- 
liceman drily,  and  pointed  to  a  large  number,  fairly  vis- 
ible, on  the  wide  gate-post.  George  had  not  inspected 
the  gate-post. 

"  Oh !     Thanks !  " 

He  mounted  the  steps  and  in  the  thick  gloom  of  the 
portico  fumbled  for  the  bell  and  rang  it.  He  was  tre- 
mendously excited  and  expectant  and  apprehensive  and 
puzzled.  He  heard  rain  flatly  spitting  in  big  drops  on 
the  steps.  He  had  not  noticed  till  then  that  it  had 
begun  again.  The  bell  jangled  below.  The  light  in 
the  basement  went  out.  He  flushed  anew.  He  thought, 
trembling :  "  She's  coming  to  the  door  herself ! " 


22  THE  ROLL-CALL 


in 


"  It  had  occurred  to  me  some  time  ago,"  said  Mr. 
Haim,  "  that  if  ever  you  should  be  wanting  rooms  I 
might  be  able  to  suit  you." 

"  Really  !  "  George  murmured.  After  having  been 
shown  into  the  room  by  the  young  woman,  who  had  at 
once  disappeared,  he  was  now  recovering  from  the 
nervousness  of  that  agitating  entry  and  resuming  his 
normal  demeanour  of  an  experienced  and  well-balanced 
man  of  the  world.  He  felt  relieved  that  she  had  gone, 
and  yet  he  regretted  her  departure  extremely,  and 
hoped  against  fear  that  she  would  soon  return. 

"  Yes !  "  said  Mr.  Haim,  as  it  were  triumphantly,  like 
one  who  had  whispered  to  himself  during  long  3'ears : 
"  The  hour  will  come."     The  hour  had  come. 

Mr.  Haim  was  surprising  to  George.  The  man 
seemed  much  older  in  his  own  parlour  than  at  the 
office, —  his  hair  thinner  and  greyer,  and  his  face  more 
wrinkled.  But  the  surprising  part  of  him  was  that  he 
had  a  home  and  was  master  in  it,  and  possessed  interests 
other  than  those  of  the  firm  of  Lucas  and  Enwriffht. 
George  had  never  until  that  day  conceived  the  man 
apart  from  Russell  Square.  And  here  he  was  smoking 
a  cigarette  in  an  easy  chair  and  wearing  red  morocco 
slippers,  and  being  called  "  father  "  by  a  really  stun- 
ning creature  in  a  thin  white  blouse  and  a  blue  skirt. 

The  young  girl,  opening  the  front-door,  had  said: 
"Do  you  want  to  see  father.''"  And  instantly  the 
words  were  out  George  had  realised  that  she  might  have 
said:  "  Did  you  want  to  see  father?  "...  in  the  idiom 
of  the  shop-girl  or  clerk,  and  that  if  she  had  said  "  did  " 
he  would  have  been  gravely  disappointed  and  hurt. 
But  she  had  not.  Of  course  she  had  not !  Of  course 
she  was  incapable  of  such  a  locution,  and  it  was  silly  of 


THE  NEW  LODGING  2^ 

him  to  have  thought  otherwise,  even  momentarily.  She 
was  an  artist.  Entirely  different  from  the  blonde  and 
fluffy  Mrs.  John  Orgreave —  (and  a  good  thing  too, 
for  Mrs.  John  with  her  eternal  womanishness  had  got 
on  his  nerves) — Miss  Haim  was  without  doubt  just 
as  much  a  lady,  and  probably  a  jolly  sight  more  cul- 
tured, in  the  true  sense.  Yet  Miss  Haim  had  not  in  the 
least  revealed  herself  to  him  in  the  hall  as  she  indicated 
the  depository  for  his  hat  and  stick  and  opened  the  door 
of  the  sitting-room.  She  had  barely  smiled.  Indeed 
she  had  not  smiled.  She  had  not  mentioned  the  weather. 
On  the  other  hand,  she  had  not  been  prim  or  repellent. 
She  had  revealed  nothing  of  herself.  Her  one  feat  had 
been  to  stimulate  mightily  his  curiosity  and  his  imag- 
ination concerning  her  —  rampant  enough  even  before 
he  entered  the  house ! 

The  house  —  what  he  saw  of  it  —  suited  her  and  set 
her  off.  And,  as  she  was  different  from  Mrs.  John, 
so  was  the  house  different  from  the  polished  conven- 
tional abode  of  Mrs.  John  at  Bedford  Park.  To 
George's  taste  it  knocked  Bedford  Park  to  smithereens. 
In  the  parlour,  for  instance :  an  oak  chest,  an  oak  settee, 
an  oak  gate-table,  one  tapestried  easy-chair,  several 
rush-bottomed  chairs,  a  very  small  brass  fender,  a  self- 
coloured  wall-paper  of  warm  green,  two  or  three  old  en- 
gravings in  maple-wood  or  tarnished  gilt  frames,  sev- 
eral small  portraits  in  maple-wood  frames,  brass  candle- 
sticks on  the  mantelpiece  and  no  clock,  self-coloured 
brown  curtains  across  the  windows  (two  windows  oppo- 
site each  other  at  either  end  of  the  long  room),  sundry 
rugs  on  the  dark  stained  floor,  and  so  on!  Not  too 
much  furniture,  and  not  too  much  symmetry  either. 
An  agreeable  and  original  higgledy-piggledyness  !  The 
room  was  lighted  by  a  fairly  large  oil-lamp,  with  a 
paper  shade  hand-painted  in   a  design  of  cupids  —  a 


24  THE  ROLL-CALL 

delightful  personal  design,  rough,  sketchy,  adorable! 
She  had  certainly  done  it. 

George  sat  on  the  oak-settle,  fronting  the  old  man 
in  the  easy  chair.  It  was  a  hard,  smooth  oak-settle; 
it  had  no  upholstering  nor  cushion ;  but  George  liked  it. 
"  May  I  smoke?  "  asked  George. 

"  Please  do.  Please  do,"  said  Mr.  Haim,  who  was 
smoking  a  cigarette  himself,  with  courteous  hospitality. 
However,  it  was  a  match  and  not  a  cigarette  that  he 
offered  to  George,  who  opened  his  own  dandiacal  case. 

"  I  stayed  rather  late  at  the  office  to-night,"  said 
George,  as  he  blew  out  those  great  clouds  with  which 
young  men  demonstrate  to  the  world  that  the  cigar- 
ette is  actually  lighted.  And  as  Mr.  Haim,  who  was 
accustomed  to  the  boasting  of  articled  pupils,  made  no 
comment,  George  proceeded,  lolling  on  the  settle  and 
showing  his  socks :  "  You  know,  I  like  Chelsea.  I've 
always  had  a  fancy  for  it."  He  was  just  about  to 
continue  cosmopolitanly :  "  It's  the  only  part  of  Lon- 
don that's  like  Paris.  The  people  in  the  King's  Road," 
etc.,  when  fortunately  he  remembered  that  Mr.  Haim 
must  have  overheard  these  remarks  of  Mr.  Enwright, — 
and  ceased,  rather  awkwardly.  Whereupon  Mr.  Haim 
suggested  that  he  should  see  the  house,  and  George  said 
eagerly  that  he  should  like  to  see  the  house. 

"  We've  got  one  bedroom  more  than  we  want,"  Mr. 
Haim  remarked  as  he  led  George  to  the  hall. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  said  George  politely. 

The  hall  had  a  small  bracket-lamp,  which  Mr.  Haim 
unhooked,  and  then  he  opened  a  door  opposite  to  the 
door  of  the  room  which  they  had  quitted. 

"  Now  this  is  a  bedroom,"  said  he,  holding  the  lamp 
high. 

George  was  startled.  A  ground-floor  bedroom  would 
have  been  unthinkable  at  Bedford  Park.     Still,  in  a 


THE  NEW  LODGING  25 

flat.  .  .  .  Moreover  the  idea  had  piquancy.  The  bed- 
room was  sparsely  furnished.  Instead  of  a  wardrobe  it 
had  a  corner  curtained  off  with  cretonne. 

"  A  good-sized  room,"  said  Mr.  Haim. 

"  Very,"  said  George.  "  Two  windows,  too,  like  the 
drawing-room." 

Then  they  went  upstairs  to  the  first-floor,  and  saw 
two  more  bedrooms,  each  with  two  windows.  One  of 
them  was  Miss  Haim's ;  there  was  a  hat  hung  on  the 
looking-glass,  and  a  table  with  a  few  books  on  it.  They 
did  not  go  to  the  second  floor.  The  staircase  to  the 
second-floor  was  boarded  up  at  the  point  where  it  turned. 

"  That's  all  there  is,"  said  Mr.  Haim  on  the  landing. 
"  The  studio  people  have  the  second  floor,  but  they 
don't  use  my  front-door."  He  spoke  the  last  words 
rather  defiantly. 

"  I  see,"  said  George,  untruthfully,  for  he  was  mysti- 
fied.    But  the  mystery  did  not  trouble  him. 

There  was  no  bathroom,  and  this  did  not  trouble  him 
either,  though  at  Bedford  Park  he  could  never  have 
seriously  considered  a  house  without  a  bathroom. 

"  You  could  have  your  choice  of  ground-floor  or  first- 
floor,"  said  Mr.  Haim,  confidentially,  still  on  the  land- 
ing. He  moved  the  lamp  about  and  the  shadows  moved 
accordingly  on  the  stairs. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  mind  in  the  least,"  George  answered. 
"  Whichever  would  suit  you  best." 

"  We  could  give  you  breakfast,  and  use  of  sitting- 
room,"  Mr.  Haim  proceeded  in  a  low  tone.  "  But  no 
other  meals." 

"  That  would  be  all  right,"  said  George  cheerfully. 
"  I  often  dine  in  town.  Like  that  I  can  get  in  a  bit  of 
extra  work  at  the  office,  you  see." 

"  Except  on  Sundays,"  Mr.  Haim  corrected  himself. 
■**  You'd  want  your  meals  on  Sundays,  of  course.     But 


ae  THE  ROLL-CALL 

I  expect  you're  out  a  good  deal,  what  with  one  thing 
or  another." 

"  Oh  !     I  am  !  "  George  concurred. 

The  place  was  perfect,  and  he  was  determined  to 
establish  himself  in  it.  Notliing  could  baulk  him.  A 
hitch  would  have  desolated  him  completely. 

"  I  ma}^  as  well  show  you  the  basement,  while  I'm 
about  it,"  said  Mr.  Haim. 

*'  Do !  "  said  George  ardently. 

They  descended.  The  host  was  very  dignified,  as 
invariably  at  the  office,  and  his  accent  never  lapsed 
from  the  absolute  correctness  of  an  educated  Londoner. 
His  deportment  gave  distinction  and  safety  even  to  the 
precipitous  and  mean  basement  stairs,  which  were  of 
stone  and  worn  as  by  the  knees  of  pilgrims  in  a  crypt. 
All  kinds  of  irregular  pipes  ran  about  along  the  ceiling 
of  the  basement ;  some  were  covered  by  ancient  layers 
of  wall-paper  and  some  were  not ;  some  were  painted 
yellow  and  some  were  painted  grey,  and  some  were  not 
painted.  Mr.  Haim  exhibited  first  the  kitchen. 
George  saw  a  morsel  of  red  amber  behind  black  bars,  a 
white  deal  table  and  a  black  cat  crouched  on  a  corner 
of  the  table,  a  chair  and  a  tea-cloth  drying  over  the 
back  thereof.  He  liked  the  scene;  it  reminded  him  of 
the  Five  Towns,  and  showed  reassuringly  —  if  he  needed 
reassurance,  which  he  did  not  —  that  all  houses  are 
the  same  at  heart.  Then  Mr.  Haim,  flashing  a  lamp- 
ray  on  the  coal-hole  and  the  area-door  as  he  turned, 
crossed  the  stone  passage  into  the  other  basement  room. 

"  This  is  our  second  sitting-room,"  said  Mr.  Haim, 
entering. 

There  she  was,  at  work,  rapt,  exactly  as  George  had 
seen  her  from  the  outside.  But  now  he  saw  the  right 
side  of  her  face  instead  of  the  left.  It  was  wonderful 
to  him  that  within  the  space  of  a  few  minutes  he  should 


THE  NEW  LODGING  27 

have  developed  from  an  absolute  stranger  to  her  into 
an  acquaintance  of  the  house,  walking  about  in  it,  peer- 
ing into  its  recesses,  disturbing  its  secrets,  which  were 
hers.  But  she  remained  as  mysterious,  as  withdrawn 
and  intangible  as  ever.  And  then  she  shifted  round 
suddenly  on  the  chair  and  her  absorbed,  intent  face  soft- 
ened into  a  most  beautiful  simple  smile  —  a  smile  of 
welcome.  An  astonishing  and  celestial  change !  .  .  . 
She  was  not  one  of  those  queer  girls,  as  perhaps  she 
might  have  been.  She  was  a  girl  of  natural  impulses. 
He  smiled  back,  uplifted. 

"  My  daughter  designs  book-bindings,"  said  Mr. 
Haim.  "  Happens  to  be  very  busy  to-night  on  some- 
thing urgent." 

He  advanced  towards  her,  George  following. 

"  Awfully  good !  "  George  murmured  enthusiastically, 
and  quite  sincerely,  though  he  was  not  at  all  in  a  con- 
dition to  judge  the  design.  Strange,  that  he  should 
come  to  the  basement  of  an  ordinary  stock-size  house 
in  Alexandra  Grove  to  see  book-bindings  in  the  making! 
This  was  a  design  for  a  boy's  book.  He  had  possessed 
many  such  books.  But  it  had  never  occurred  to  him 
that  the  gay  bindings  of  them  were  each  the  result  of 
individual  human  thought  and  labour.  He  pulled  at  his 
cigarette. 

There  was  a  sound  of  pushing  and  rattling  outside. 

"  What's  that.?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Haim. 

"  It's  the  area-door.  I  bolted  it.  I  daresay  it's 
Mrs.  Lobley,"  said  the  girl  indifferently. 

Mr.  Haim  moved  sharply. 

"Why  did  you  bolt  it.  Marguerite?  No,  I'll  go 
myself."  He  picked  up  the  lamp,  which  he  had  put 
down,  and  shuffled  quickly  out  in  his  red  morocco  slip- 
pers, closing  the  door. 

Marguerite.''     Yes,  it  suited  her;  and  it  was  among 


28  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  most  romantic  of  names.  It  completed  the  picture. 
She  now  seemed  to  be  listening  and  waiting,  her  atten- 
tion on  the  unseen  area-door.  He  felt  shy  and  yet  very 
happy  alone  with  her.  Voices  were  distinctly  heard. 
Who  was  Mrs.  Lobley.'^  Was  Mr.  Haim  a  little  an- 
noyed with  his  daughter,  and  was  Marguerite  exquisitely 
defiant.''  Time  hung.  The  situation  was  slightly  awk- 
ward, he  thought.  And  it  was  obscure,  alluring.  .  .  , 
He  stood  there,  below  the  level  of  the  street,  shut  in 
with  these  beings  unknown,  provocative,  and  full  of 
half-divined  implications.  And  all  Chelsea  was  around 
him  and  all  London  around  Chelsea. 

"  Father  won't  be  a  moment,"  said  the  girl.  "  It's 
only  the  charwoman." 

"  Oh !  That's  quite  all  right,"  he  answered  effu- 
sively, and  turning  to  the  design :  "  The  outlining  of 
that  lettering  fairly  beats  me,  you  know." 

"  Not  really  !  .   .  .  I  get  that  from  father,  of  course." 

Mr.  Haim  was  famous  in  the  office  as  a  letterer. 

She  sat  idly  glancing  at  her  own  design,  her  plump 
small  hands  lying  in  the  blue  lap.  George  compared 
her,  unspeakably  to  her  advantage,  with  the  kind, 
coarse  young  woman  at  the  chophouse,  whom  he  had 
asked  to  telephone  to  the  Orgreaves  for  him,  and  for 
whom  he  had  been  conscious  of  a  faint  penchant. 

"  I  can't  colour  it  by  gaslight,"  said  Marguerite 
Haim.     "  I  shall  have  to  do  that  in  the  morning." 

He  imagined  her  at  work  again  early  in  the  morning. 
Within  a  week  or  so  he  might  be  living  in  this  house 
with  this  girl.  He  would  be, —  watching  her  life !  Se- 
ducing prospect,  scarcely  credible !  He  remembered 
having  heard  when  he  first  went  to  Lucas  and  En- 
wright's  that  old  Haim  was  a  widower. 

"  Do  excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Haim,  urgently  apologetic, 
reappearing. 


THE  NEW  LODGING  29 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  George  had  left  the  house, 
having  accepted  Mr.  Haim's  terms  without  the  least 
argument.  In  five  days  he  was  to  be  an  inmate  of  No. 
8  Alexandra  Grove.  The  episode  presented  itself  to 
him  as  a  vast  romantic  adventure,  staggering  and  en- 
chanting. His  luck  continued,  for  the  rain-cloud  was 
spent.  He  got  into  an  Earl's  Court  bus.  The  dimly 
perceived  travellers  in  it  seemed  all  of  them  in  a  new 
sense  to  be  romantic  and  mysterious.  ..."  Yes,"  he 
thought,  "  I  did  say  good-night  to  her,  but  I  didn't 
shake  hands." 


CHAPTER  II 

MARGUERITE 


More  than  two  months  later  George  came  into  the 
office  in  Russell  Square  an  hour  or  so  after  his  usual 
time.  He  had  been  to  South  Kensington  Museum  to 
look  up,  for  professional  purposes,  some  scale  drawings 
of  architectural  detail  which  were  required  for  a  restau- 
rant then  rising  in  Piccadilly  under  the  direction  of 
Lucas  and  Enwright.  In  his  room  Mr.  Everard  Lucas 
was  already  seated.  Mr.  Lucas  was  another  articled 
pupil  of  the  firm ;  being  a  remote  cousin  of  the  late 
senior  partner,  he  had  entered  on  special  terms.  Al- 
though a  year  older  than  George  he  was  less  advanced, 
for  whereas  George  had  passed  the  Intermediate,  Mr. 
Lucas  had  not.  But  in  manly  beauty,  in  stylishness,  in 
mature  tact,  and  especially  in  persuasive  charm,  he 
could  beat  George. 

"  Hello ! "  Lucas  greeted.  "  How  do  you  feel  ? 
Fit?" 

"Fit.?"  said  George  enthusiastically.  "I  feel  so 
fit  I  could  push  in  the  side  of  a  house." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?  "  said  Lucas. 

George  rubbed  his  hand  all  over  Lucas's  hair,  and 
Lucas  thereupon  seized  George's  other  hand  and  twisted 
his  arm,  and  a  struggle  followed.  In  this  way  they 
would  often  lovingly  salute  each  other  of  a  morning. 
Lucas  had  infected  George  with  the  craze  for  physical 
exercises  as  a  remedy  for  all  ills  and  indiscretions,  in- 

30 


MARGUERITE  31 

eluding  even  late  nights  and  excessive  smoking.  The 
competition  between  them  to  excel  in  the  quality  of  fit- 
ness was  acute,  and  sometimes  led  to  strange  challenges. 
After  a  little  discussion  about  springing  from  the  toes 
Lucas  now  accused  George's  toes  of  a  lack  of  muscular- 
ity, and  upon  George  denying  the  charge,  he  asserted 
that  George  could  not  hang  from  the  mantelpiece  by 
his  toes.  They  were  both  men  of  the  world,  capable  of 
great  heights  of  dignity,  figures  in  an  important  busi- 
ness, aspirants  to  a  supreme  art  and  profession.  They 
were  at  that  moment  in  a  beautiful  late-eighteenth 
century  house  of  a  stately  and  renowned  square,  and  in 
a  room  whose  proportions  and  ornament  admittedly 
might  serve  as  an  exemplar  to  the  student ;  and  not  the 
least  lovely  feature  of  the  room  was  the  high  carved 
mantelpiece.  The  morning  itself  was  historic,  for  it 
was  the  very  morning  upon  which.  President  McKinley 
having  expired,  Theodore  Roosevelt  ascended  to  the 
throne  and  inaugurated  a  new  era.  Nevertheless,  such 
was  their  peculiar  time  of  life  that  George  a  minute 
later  was  as  a  fact  hanging  by  his  toes  from  the  mantel- 
piece while  Lucas  urged  him  to  keep  the  blood  out  of 
his  head.  George  had  stood  on  his  hands  on  a  box  and 
ledged  his  toes  on  the  mantelpiece  and  then  raised  his 
hands, —  and  Lucas  had  softly  pushed  the  box  away. 
George's  watch  was  dangling  against  his  flushed  cheek. 

"  Put  that  box  back,  you  cuckoo !  "  George  exploded 
chokingly. 

Then  the  door  opened  and  Mr.  Enwright  appeared. 
Simultaneously  some  shillings  slipped  out  of  George's 
pocket  and  rolled  about  the  floor.  The  hour  was  Mr. 
Enwright's  customary  hour  of  arrival,  but  he  had  no 
fair  excuse  for  passing  through  that  room  instead  of 
proceeding  along  the  corridor  direct  to  the  principals' 
room.     His  aspect,  as  he  gazed  at  George's  hair  and  at 


32  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  revealed  sateen  back  of  George's  waistcoat,  was 
unusual.  Mr.  Enwright  commonly  entered  the  office 
full  of  an  intense  and  aggrieved  consciousness  of  his 
own  existence, —  of  his  insomnia,  of  the  reaction  upon 
himself  of  some  client's  stupidity,  of  the  necessity  of 
going  out  again  in  order  to  have  his  chin  lacerated  by 
his  favourite  and  hated  Albanian  barber.  But  now  he 
had  actually  forgotten  himself. 

*'  What  is  this  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Lucas  having  quickly  restored  the  box,  George  sub- 
sided dangerously  thereon,  and  arose  in  a  condition 
much  disarrayed  and  confused,  and  beheld  Mr.  En- 
wright with  shame. 

"I  —  I  was  just  looking  to  see  if  the  trap  of  the 
chimney  was  shut,"  said  George.  It  was  foolish  in  the 
extreme,  but  it  was  the  best  he  could  do,  and  after  all 
it  was  a  rather  marvellous  invention.  Lucas  sat  down 
and  made  no  remark. 

"  You  might  respect  the  mantelpiece,"  said  Mr.  En- 
wright, bitterly,  and  went  into  the  principals'  room, 
where  John  Orgreave  could  be  heard  dictating  letters. 

George  straightened  his  clothes  and  picked  up  his 
money,  and  the  two  men  of  the  world  giggled  nervously 
at  each  other. 

Mr.  Halm  next  disturbed  them.  The  shabby,  re- 
spectable old  man  smiled  vaguely,  with  averted  glance. 

"  I  think  he's  heard  the  result,"  said  he. 

Both  men  knew  that  "  he  "  was  Mr.  Enwright,  and 
that  the  "  result  "  was  the  result  of  the  open  competi- 
tion for  the  £150,000  Law  Courts  which  a  proud  pro- 
vincial city  proposed  to  erect  for  itself.  The  whole 
office  had  worked  very  hard  on  the  drawings  for  that 
competition  throughout  the  summer,  while  cursing  the 
corporation  whicli  had  chosen  so  unusual  a  date  for 
sending-in   day.     Even   Lucas   had   worked.     George's 


MARGUERITE  33 

ideas  for  certain  details,  upon  which  he  had  been  en- 
gaged on  the  evening  of  his  introduction  to  Mr.  Haim's 
household,  had  been  accepted  by  Mr.  Enwright.  As  for 
Mr.  Enwright,  though  the  exigencies  of  his  beard,  and 
his  regular  morning  habit  of  inveighing  against  the  pro- 
fession at  great  length,  and  his  inability  to  decide  where 
he  should  lunch,  generally  prevented  him  from  beginning 
the  day  until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, —  Mr.  En- 
wright had  given  many  highly  concentrated  hours  of 
creative  energy  to  the  design.  And  Mr.  Haira  had 
adorned  the  sheets  with  the  finest  lettering.  The  design 
was  held  to  be  very  good.  The  principals  knew  the 
identity  of  all  the  other  chief  competitors  and  their 
powers,  and  they  knew  also  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the 
Assessor;  and  their  expert  and  impartial  opinion  was 
that  the  Lucas  and  Enwright  design  ought  to  win  and 
would  win.  This  view  indeed  was  widespread  in  the 
arcana  of  the  architectural  world.  George  had  grad- 
ually grown  certain  of  victory.  And  yet  at  Mr.  Haim's 
words  his  hopes  sank  horribly  away. 

"  Have  we  won?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  That  I  can't  say,  Mr.  Cannon,"  answered  Haim. 

"Well,  then,  how  do  you  know  he's  heard?  Has  he 
told  you?" 

"  No,"  said  the  factotum  mysteriously.  "  But  I 
think  he's  heard."  And  upon  this  Mr.  Haim  slouched 
off,  quite  calmly.  Often  he  had  assisted  at  the  advent 
of  such  vital  news  in  the  office  —  news  obtained  in  ad- 
vance by  the  principals  through  secret  channels  —  and 
often  the  news  had  been  bad.  But  the  firm's  calamities 
seemed  never  to  affect  the  smoothness  of  Mr.  Haim's 
earthly  passage. 

The  door  into  the  principals'  room  opened,  and  Mr. 
Enwright's  head  showed.  The  gloomy  resenting  eyes 
fixed  George  for  an  instant. 


34  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Well,  you've  lost  that  competition,"  said  Mr.  En- 
wright,  and  he  stepped  into  full  view.  His  unseen 
partner  had  ceased  to  dictate,  and  the  shorthand-clerk 
could  be  heard  going  out  by  the  other  door. 

"  No !  "  said  George,  in  a  long,  outraged  murmur. 
The  news  seemed  incredible  and  quite  disastrous,  and 
yet  at  the  same  time  had  he  not  in  one  unvisited  corner 
of  his  mind  always  foreknown  it?  Suddenly  he  was 
distressed,  discouraged,  disillusioned  about  the  whole 
of  life.  He  thought  that  Everard  Lucas,  screAving  up 
a  compass,  was  strangely  unmoved.  But  Mr.  Enwright 
ignored  Lucas. 

"  Who's  got  it  ?  "  George  asked. 

"  Whinburn." 

"  That  chap !  .  .  .  Where  are  tvef  " 

"  Nowhere." 

"Not  placed?" 

"  Not  in  it.  Skelting's  second.  And  Grant  third. 
I  shouldn't  have  minded  so  much  if  Grant  had  got  it. 
There  was  something  to  be  said  for  his  scheme,  I  knew 
zve  shouldn't  get  it.  I  knew  that  perfectly  well  —  not 
with  Corver  assessing." 

George  wondered  that  his  admired  principal  should 
thus  state  the  exact  opposite  of  what  he  had  so  often 
affirmed  during  the  last  few  weeks.  People  were  cer- 
tainl}^  very  queer,  even  the  best  of  them.  The  percep- 
tion of  this  fact  added  to  his  puzzled  woe. 

"  But  Whinburn's  design  is  grotesque !  "  he  protested, 
borrowing  one  of  Mr.  Enwright's  adjectives. 

"  Of  course  it  is." 

"  Then  why  does  Sir  Hugh  Corver  go  and  give  him 
the  award?     Surely  he  must  know " 

"  Know !  "  Mr.  Enwright  growled,  destroying  Sir 
Hugh  and  his  reputation  and  his  pretensions  with  one 
single  monosyllable. 


MARGUERITE  35 

"  Then  why  did  they  make  him  assessor  —  that's  what 
I  can't  understand." 

"  It's  quite  simple,"  rasped  Mr.  Enwright.  "  They 
made  him  assessor  because  he's  got  so  much  work  to 
do  it  takes  him  all  his  time  to  trot  about  from  one  job 
to  another  on  his  blooming  pony.  They  made  him  as- 
sessor because  his  pony's  a  piebald  pony.  Couldn't 
you  think  of  that  for  yourself  .-^  Or  have  you  been  stone 
deaf  in  this  office  for  two  years?  It  stands  to  reason 
that  a  man  who's  responsible  for  all  the  largest  new  eye- 
gores  in  London  would  impress  any  corporation.  Clever 
chap,  Corver !  Instead  of  wasting  his  time  in  travel 
and  study,  he  made  a  specialty  of  learning  how  to  talk 
to  Committees.  And  he  was  always  full  of  ideas  lik?- 
the  piebald  pony,  ever  since  I  knew  him." 

"  It's  that  facade  that  did  for  us,"  broke  in  an- 
other voice.  John  Orgreave  stood  behind  Mr.  En> 
Wright.  He  spoke  easily ;  he  was  not  ruffled  by  the 
immense  disappointment,  though  the  mournful  greatness 
of  the  topic  had  drawn  him  irresistibly  into  the  dis- 
cussion. John  Orgreave  had  grown  rather  fat  and 
coarse.  At  one  period,  in  the  Five  Towns,  he  had  been 
George's  hero.  He  was  so  no  longer.  George  was 
still  fond  of  him,  but  he  had  torn  him  down  from  the 
pedestal  and  established  Mr.  Enwright  in  his  place. 
George  in  his  heart  now  somewhat  patronised  the  placid 
Orgreave,  regarding  him  as  an  excellent  person  who 
comprehended  naught  that  was  worth  comprehending, 
and  as  a  husband  who  was  the  dupe  of  his  wife. 

"  You  couldn't  have  any  other  facade,"  iVIr.  En- 
wright turned  on  him,  "  unless  you're  absolutely  going 
to  ignore  the  Market  on  the  other  side  of  the  Square. 
Whinburn's  facade  is  an  outrage  —  an  outrage.  Give 
me  a  cigarette.     I  must  run  out  and  get  shaved." 

While    Mr.    Enwright    was    lighting    the    cigarette, 


Se  THE  ROLL-CALL 

George  reflected  in  desolation  upon  the  slow  evolving 
of  the  firm's  design  for  the  Law  Courts.  Again  and 
again  in  the  course  of  the  work  had  he  been  struck  into 
a  worshipping  enthusiasm  by  the  brilliance  of  Mr. 
Enwright's  invention  and  the  happy  beauty  of  his 
ideas.  For  George  there  was  only  one  architect  in  the 
world;  he  was  convinced  that  nobody  could  possibly 
rival  Mr,  Enwright,  and  that  no  Law  Courts  ever  had 
been  conceived  equal  to  those  Law  Courts.  And  he  him- 
self had  contributed  something  to  the  creation.  He 
had  dreamed  of  the  building  erected  and  of  being  able 
to  stand  in  front  of  some  detail  of  it  and  say  to  himself: 
"  That  was  my  notion,  that  was."  And  now  the  build- 
ing was  destroyed  before  its  birth.  It  would  never 
come  into  existence.  It  was  wasted.  And  the  pros- 
pect for  the  firm  of  several  years'  remunerative  and 
satisfying  labour  had  vanished.  But  the  ridiculous, 
canny  Whinburn  would  be  profitably  occupied  and  his 
grotesque  building  would  actually  arise,  and  people 
would  praise  it,  and  it  would  survive  for  centuries  — 
at  any  rate  for  a  century. 

Mr.  Enwright  did  not  move. 

"  It's  no  use  regi'etting  the  facade,  Orgreave,"  he 
said  suddenly.     "  There's  such  a  thing  as  self-respect." 

"  I  don't  see  that  self-respect's  got  much  to  do  with 
it,"  Orgreave  replied  lightly. 

("  Of  course  you  don't,"  George  thought.  "  You're 
a  decent  sort,  but  you  don't  see,  and  you  never  will  see. 
Even  Lucas  doesn't  see.  I  alone  see."  And  he  felt 
savage  and  defiant.) 

"  Better  shove  my  self-respect  away  into  this  cup- 
board, I  suppose !  "  said  Mr.  Enwright  with  the  most 
acrid  cynicism,  and  he  pulled  open  one  door  of  a  long, 
low  cupboard  whose  top  formed  a  table  for  ])ortfolios, 
dusty  illustrated  books  and  other  accumulations. 


MARGUERITE  37 

The  gesture  was  dramatic,  and  none  knew  it  better 
than  Mr.  Enwright.  The  cupboard  was  the  cupboard 
which  contained  the  skeleton.  It  was  full  of  designs 
rejected  in  public  competitions.  There  they  lay,  piles 
and  piles  of  them,  the  earliest  dating  from  the  late  sev- 
enties. The  cupboard  was  crammed  with  the  futility 
of  Enwright's  genius.  It  held  monuments  enough  to 
make  illustrious  a  score  of  cities.  Lucas  and  Enwright 
was  a  successful  firm.  But,  confining  itself  chiefly  to 
large  public  works,  it  could  not  escape  from  the  com- 
petition system  ;  and  it  had  lost  in  far  more  competitions 
than  it  had  won.  It  was  always,  and  always  would  be, 
at  the  mercy  of  an  Assessor.  The  chances  had  always 
been  and  always  would  be  against  the  acceptance  of  its 
designs,  because  they  had  the  fatal  quality  of  originality 
combined  with  modest  adherence  to  the  classical  tradi- 
tion. When  they  conquered,  it  was  by  sheer  force. 
George  glanced  at  the  skeleton,  and  he  was  afraid. 
Something  was  very  wrong  with  architecture.  He 
agreed  with  Mr.  Enwright's  tiresomely  reiterated  axiom 
that  it  was  the  Cinderella  of  professions  and  the  chosen 
field  of  ghastly  injustice.  He  had  embraced  architec- 
ture; he  had  determined  to  follow  exactly  in  the  foot- 
steps of  Mr.  Enwright ;  he  had  sworn  to  succeed.  But 
could  he  succeed?  Suppose  he  failed!  Yes,  his  faith 
faltered.  He  was  intensely,  miserably  afraid.  He  was 
the  most  serious  man  in  Russell  Square.  Astounding 
that  only  a  few  minutes  ago  he  had  hung  triumphantly 
by  his  feet  from  the  mantelpiece ! 

Mr.  Enwright  kicked-to  the  door  of  the  cupboard. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  to  his  partner,  "  I  shan't  be 
back  just  yet.  I  have  to  go  and  see  Bentley.  I'd 
forgotten  it." 

Nobody  was  surprised  at  this  remark.  Whenever 
Mr.  Enwright  was  inconveniently  set  back  he  always 


38  THE  ROLL-CALL 

went  off  to  visit  Bentley,  the  architect  of  the  new  Roman 
CathoHc  Cathedral  at  Westminster,  on  the  plea  of  an 
urgent  appointment. 

"  You  had  a  look  at  the  Cathedral  lately?"  he  de- 
manded of  George  as  he  left. 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Gr€orge  who,  by  reason  of  a 
series  of  unaccountable  omissions,  and  of  the  fulness  of 
his  life  as  an  architect  and  a  man  of  the  world,  had 
never  seen  the  celebrated  cathedral  at  all. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Enwright  sarcastically.  "  Better 
take  just  a  glance  at  it  —  some  time  —  before  they've 
spoilt  the  thing  with  decorations.  There's  a  whole  lot 
of  'em  only  waiting  till  Bentley's  out  of  the  way  to 
begin  and  ruin  it." 


Before  the  regular  closing  hour  of  the  office  the  two 
articled  pupils  had  left  and  were  walking  side  by  side 
through  Bloomsbury.  They  skirted  the  oval  garden  of 
Bedford  Square  which,  lying  off  the  main  track  to  the 
northern  termini,  and  with  nothing  baser  in  it  than  a 
consulate  or  so,  took  precedence  in  austerity  and  se- 
lectness  over  Russell  Square,  which  had  consented  to 
receive  a  grand  hotel  or  "  modern  caravanserai  "  and 
a  shorthand  school.  Indeed  the  aspect  of  Bedford 
Square,  where  the  great  institution  of  the  basement  and 
area  still  flourished  in  perfection,  and  wealthy  menials 
with  traditional  manners  lived  sensually  in  caves  be- 
neath the  spacious  calm  salons  of  their  employers  and 
dupes, —  the  aspect  of  Bedford  Square  gave  the  illusion 
that  evolution  was  not,  and  that  Bloomsbury  and  the 
whole  impressive  structure  of  British  society  could 
never  change.  Still,  from  a  more  dubious  Bloomsbury, 
demure  creatures  with  inviting,  indiscreet  eyes  were 
already  traversing  the  prim  flags  of  Bedford  Square  on 


MARGUERITE  39 

their  way  to  the  evening's  hard  diplomacy.  Mr.  Lucas 
made  quiet  remarks  about  their  qualities,  but  George 
did  not  respond. 

"  Look  here,  old  man,"  said  Lucas.  "  There's  no  use 
in  all  this  gloom.  You  might  think  Lucas  and  En- 
wright  had  never  put  up  a  building  in  their  lives.  Just 
as  well  to  dwell  now  and  then  on  what  they  have  done 
instead  of  on  what  they  haven't  done.  We're  fairly 
busy,  you  know.     Besides " 

He  spoke  seriously,  tactfully,  with  charm,  and  he  had 
a  beautiful  voice. 

"  Quite  right !  Quite  right ! "  George  willingly 
agreed,  swinging  his  stick  and  gazing  straight  ahead. 
And  he  thought :  "  This  chap  has  got  his  head  screwed 
on.  He's  miles  wiser  than  I  am,  and  he's  really  nice. 
I  could  never  be  nice  like  that." 

In  a  moment  they  were  at  the  turbulent  junction  of 
Tottenham  Court  Road  and  Oxford  Street,  where 
crowds  of  Londoners,  deeply  unconscious  of  their  own 
vulgarity,  and  of  the  marvellous  distinction  of  Bedford 
Square,  and  of  the  moral  obligation  to  harmonise  socks 
with  neckties,  were  preoccupying  themselves  with  om- 
nibuses and  routes,  and  constituting  the  spectacle  of 
London.  The  high-heeled  demure  creatures  were  lost 
in  this  crowd,  and  Lucas  and  George  were  lost  in  it. 

"  Well,"    said    Lucas,    halting    on    the    pavement. 

You're  going  down  to  the  cathedral." 

It'll  please  the  old  cock,"  answered  George,  anxious 
to  disavow  any  higher  motive.      "  You  aren't  coming?  '* 

Lucas  shook  his  head.  "  I  shall  just  go  and  snatch 
a  hasty."  "  Cup  of  tea  "  was  the  unuttered  end  of  the 
sentence. 

"Puffin's?" 

Lucas  nodded.  Puffin's  was  a  cozy  house  of  susten- 
ance in  a  half-new  street  on  the  site  of  the  razed  slums 


40  THE  ROLL-CALL 

of  St.  Giles's.  He  would  not  frequent  the  orthodox 
tea-houses,  which  were  all  alike  and  which  had  other 
serious  disadvantages.  He  adventured  into  the  un- 
usual, and  could  always  demonstrate  that  what  he  found 
was  subtly  superior  to  anything  else. 

"That  affair  still  on.'*"  George  questioned. 

"  It's  not  off." 

"  She's  a  nice  little  thing  —  that  I  will  say." 

"  It  all  depends,"  Lucas  replied  sternly.  "  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  she  wasn't  so  jolly  nice  on  Tues- 
day." 

"  Wasn't  she.''  "  George  raised  his  eyebrows. 

Lucas  silently  scowled,  and  his  handsomeness  van- 
ished for  an  instant. 

"  However "  he  said. 

As  George  walked  alone  down  Charing  Cross  Road, 
he  thought :  "  That  girl  will  have  to  look  out,"  mean- 
ing that  in  his  opinion  Lucas  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled 
with.  Lucas  was  a  wise  and  an  experienced  man,  and 
knew  the  world.  And  what  he  did  could  not  be  other 
than  right.  This  notion  comforted  George,  who  had  a 
small  affair  of  his  own,  which  he  had  not  vet  even  men- 
tioned  to  Lucas.  Delicacy  as  well  as  diffidence  had 
prevented  him  from  doing  so.  It  was  a  very  different 
affair  from  any  of  Lucas's,  and  he  did  not  want  Lucas 
to  misesteem  it;  neither  did  he  want  Lucas  to  be  under 
the  temptation  to  regard  him  as  a  ninny. 

Not  the  cathedral  alone  had  induced  George  to  leave 
the  office  early.  The  dissembler  had  reflected  that  if 
he  called  in  at  a  certain  conventional  tea-shop  near 
Cambridge  Circus  at  a  certain  hour  he  would  probably 
meet  Marguerite  Haim.  He  knew  that  she  had  an 
ap])ointment  with  one  of  her  customers,  a  firm  of  book- 
binders, that  afternoon,  and  that  on  similar  occasions 
she  hud  been  to  the  tea-shop.     In  fact  he  had  already 


MARGUERITE  41 

once  deliciously  taken  tea  with  her  therein.  To-day 
he  was  disappointed,  to  the  extent  of  the  tea,  for  he  met 
her  as  she  was  coming  out  of  the  shop.  Their  greetings 
were  rather  punctilious,  but  beneath  the  superficial 
formalities  shone  proofs  of  intimacy.  They  had 
had  large  opportunities  to  become  intimate,  and  they 
had  become  intimate.  The  immediate  origin  of  and 
excuse  for  the  intimacy  was  a  lampshade.  George  had 
needed  a  lampshade  for  his  room,  and  she  had  offered  to 
paint  one.  She  submitted  sketches.  But  George  also 
could  paint  a  bit.  Hence  discussions,  conferences,  rival 
designs,  and  lastly  an  agreement  upon  a  composite  de- 
sign. Before  long,  the  lampshade  craze  increasing  in 
virulence,  they  had  between  them  re-lampshaded  the 
entire  house.  Then  the  charming  mania  expired;  but 
it  had  done  its  work.  During  the  summer-holiday 
George  had  written  twice  to  Marguerite,  and  he  had 
thought  pleasurably  about  her  the  whole  time.  He  had 
hoped  that  she  would  open  the  door  for  him  upon  his 
return,  and  that  when  he  saw  her  again  he  would  at 
length  penetrate  the  baffling  secret  of  her  individuality. 
She  had  opened  the  door  for  him,  exquisitely,  but  the 
secret  had  not  yielded  itself.  It  was  astonishing  to 
George  how  that  girl  could  combine  the  candours  of 
honest  intimacy  with  a  profound  reserve. 

"  Were  you  going  in  there  for  tea?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing up  at  him  gravely. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  any  tea.  I  have  to 
wend  my  way  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Cathedral, —  you 
know,  the  new  one,  near  Victoria.  I  suppose  you 
wouldn't  care  to  see  it?" 

"  I  should  love  to,"  she  answered  with  ingenuous 
eagerness.     "  I  think  it  might  do  me  good." 

A  strange  phrase,  he  thought!     What  did  she  mean? 

"  Would  3^ou  mind  walking?  "  she  suggested. 


42  THE  ROLL-CALL 


« 


Let  me  take  that  portfolio,  then." 

So  they  walked.  She  had  her  usual  serious  expres- 
sion, as  it  were  full  of  the  consciousness  of  duty.  It 
made  him  think  how  reliable  she  would  always  be.  She 
held  herself  straight  and  independently,  and  her  appear- 
ance was  very  simple  and  very  trim.  He  considered  it 
wrong  that  a  girl  with  such  beautiful  lips  should  have  to 
consult  callous  bookbinders  and  accept  whatever  they 
chose  to  say.  To  him  she  was  like  a  lovely  and  valiant 
martyr.  The  spectacle  of  her  was  touching.  How- 
ever, he  could  not  have  dared  to  hint  at  these  sentiments. 
He  had  to  pretend  that  her  exposure  to  the  stresses  of 
the  labour-market  was  quite  natural  and  right.  Al- 
wa3's  he  was  careful  in  his  speech  with  her.  When  he 
got  to  know  people  he  was  apt  to  be  impatient  and 
ruthless ;  for  example,  to  John  Orgreave  and  his  wife, 
and  to  his  mother  and  stepfather,  and  sometimes  even 
to  Everard  Lucas.  He  would  bear  them  down.  But 
he  was  restrained  from  such  freedoms  with  Enwright, 
and  equally  with  Marguerite  Haim.  She  did  not  intim- 
idate him,  but  she  put  him  under  a  spell. 

Crossing  Piccadilly  Circus  he  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
rising  walls  and  the  scaffolding  of  the  new  restaurant. 
He  pointed  to  the  building,  without  a  word.  She 
nodded  and  smiled. 

In  the  Mall,  where  the  red  campanile  of  the  cathedral 
was  first  descried,  George  began  to  get  excited.  And  he 
perceived  that  Marguerite  sympathetically  responded 
to  his  excitement.  She  had  never  even  noticed  the  cam- 
panile before,  and  the  reason  was  that  the  cathedral 
happened  not  to  be  on  the  route  between  Alexandra 
Grove  and  her  principal  customers.  Suddenly,  out  of 
Victoria  Street,  they  came  up  against  the  vast  form 
of   the    Byzantine    cathedral.     It    was    hemmed   in    by 


MARGUERITE  43 

puny  six-storey  blocks  of  flats,  as  ancient  cathedrals 
also  are  hemmed  in  by  the  dwellings  of  townsfolk.  But 
here,  instead  of  the  houses  having  gathered  about  the 
cathedral,  the  cathedral  had  excavated  a  place  for  itself 
amid  the  houses.  Tier  above  tier  the  expensively  cur- 
tained windows  of  dark  drawing-rooms  and  bedrooms 
inhabited  by  thousands  of  the  well-to-do  blinked  up 
at  the  colossal  symbol  that  dwarfed  them  all.  George 
knew  that  he  was  late.  If  the  watchman's  gate  was 
shut  for  the  night  he  would  look  a  fool.  But  his  con- 
fidence in  his  magic  power  successfully  to  run  risks 
sustained  him  in  a  gallant  and  assured  demeanour.  The 
gate  in  the  hoarding  that  screened  the  west  front  was 
open.  With  a  large  gesture  he  tipped  the  watchman 
a  shilling,  and  they  passed  in  like  princes.  The  transi- 
tion to  the  calm  and  dusty  interior  was  instantaneous 
and  almost  overwhelming.  Immense  without,  the  ca- 
thedral seemed  still  more  immense  within.  On  one  side 
of  the  nave  was  a  steam-engine;  on  the  other  some  sort 
of  a  mill ;  and  everywhere  lay  in  heaps  the  wild  litter 
of  construction,  among  which  moved  here  and  there 
little  parties  of  aproned  pigmies  engaged  silently  and 
industriously  on  sub-contracts ;  the  main  army  of  la- 
bourers had  gone.  The  walls  rose  massively  clear  out 
of  the  white-powdered  confusion  into  arches  and  high 
domes ;  and  the  floor  of  the  choir,  and  a  loftier  floor 
beyond  that,  also  rose  clear.  Perspectives  ended  in 
shadow  and  were  illimitable,  while  the  afternoon  light 
through  the  stone  grille  of  the  western  windows  made 
luminous  spaces  in  the  gloom. 

The  sensation  of  having  the  mysterious  girl  at  his 
elbow  in  that  wonder-striking  interior  was  magnificent. 

He  murmured,  with  pride: 

"  Do  you  know  this  place  has  the  widest  nave  of  any 


44  THE  ROLL-CALL 

iathedral  in  the  world?  It's  a  much  bigger  cathedral 
than  St.  Paul's.  In  fact  I'm  not  sure  if  it  isn't  the 
biggest  in  England." 

"  You  know,"  he  said  again,  "  in  the  whole  of  the 
nineteenth  century  only  one  cathedral  was  built  in 
England." 

"Which  was  that?" 

"  Truro.  .  .  .  And  you  could  put  Truro  inside  this 
and  leave  a  margin  all  round.  Mr.  Enwright  says  this 
is  the  last  cathedral  that  ever  will  be  built,  outside 
America." 

They  gazed,  more  and  more  aware  of  a  solemn  miracle. 

"  It's  marvellous  —  marvellous  !  "  he  breathed. 

After  a  few  moments,  glancing  at  her,  a  strong  im- 
pulse to  be  confidential  mastered  him.  He  was  obliged 
to  tell  that  girl. 

"  I  say,  we've  lost  that  competition  —  for  the  Law 
Courts." 

He  smiled,  but  the  smile  had  no  effect. 

"  Oh !  "     She  positively  started. 

He  saw  that  her  eyes  had  moistened,  and  he  looked 
quickly  away,  as  though  he  had  seen  something  that  he 
ought  not  to  have  seen.  She  cared !  She  cared  a  great 
deal!  She  was  shocked  by  the  misfortune  to  the  firm, 
by  the  injustice  to  transcendent  merit!  She  knew 
nothing  whatever  about  any  design  in  the  competition. 
But  it  was  her  religion  that  the  Lucas  and  Enwright 
design  was  the  best,  and  by  far  the  best.  He  had  im- 
planted the  dogma  and  he  felt  that  she  was  ready  to  die 
for  it.  Mystery  dropped  away  from  her.  Her  soul 
stood  bare  to  him.  He  was  so  happy  and  so  proud 
that  the  intensity  of  his  feeling  dismayed  him.  But 
he  was  enheartened  too,  and  courage  to  surmount  a 
thousand  failures  welled  up  in  him  as  from  an  unimag- 
ined  spring. 


MARGUERITE  45 


it 


I  wonder  who  that  is,"  she  said  quietly  and  ordi- 
narily, as  if  a  terrible  event  had  not  happened. 

On  the  highest  floor,  at  the  other  extremity  of  the 
cathedral,  in  front  of  the  apse,  a  figure  had  appeared  in 
a  frockcoat  and  a  silk  hat.  The  figure  stood  solitary, 
gazing  around  in  the  dying  light. 

"  By  Jove !  It's  Bentley  !  It's  the  architect !  " 
George  literally  trembled.  He  literally  gave  a  sob. 
The  vision  of  Bentley  within  his  masterpiece,  of  Bentley 
whom  Enwright  himself  worshipped,  was  too  much  for 
him.  Renewed  ambition  rushed  through  him  in  elec- 
tric currents.  All  was  not  wrong  with  the  world  of 
architecture.  Bentley  had  succeeded.  Bentley,  begin- 
ning life  as  an  artisan,  had  succeeded  supremely.  And 
here  he  stood  on  the  throne  of  his  triumph.  Genius 
would  not  be  denied.  Beauty  would  conquer  despite 
everything.  What  completed  the  unbearable  grandeur 
of  the  scene  was  that  Bentley  had  cancer  of  the  tongue. 
Bentley's  friends  knew  it;  the  world  of  architecture 
knew  it;  Bentley  knew  it.  .  .  .  "Shall  I  tell  her?" 
George  thought.  He  looked  at  her;  he  looked  at  the 
vessel  which  he  had  filled  with  emotion.  He  could  not 
speak.  A  highly  sensitive  decency,  an  abhorrence  of 
crudity,  restrained  him.  "  No,"  he  decided,  "  I  can't 
tell  her  now.     I'll  tell  her  some  other  time." 


m 


With  no  clear  plan  as  to  his  dinner  he  took  her  back 
to  Alexandra  Grove.  The  dusk  was  far  advanced. 
Mounting  the  steps  quickly,  Marguerite  rang  the  bell. 
There  was  no  answer.  She  pushed  up  the  flap  of  the 
letter-aperture  and  looked  within. 

"  Have  you  got  your  latchkey?  "  she  asked,  turning 
round  on  George.  "  Father's  not  come  home, —  his 
hat's  not  hanging  up.     He  promised  me  certain  that  he 


46  THE  ROLL-CALL 

would  be  here  at  six  thirty  at  the  latest.  Otherwise  I 
should  have  taken  the  big  key." 

She  did  not  show  resentment  against  her  father;  nor 
was  there  impatience  in  her  voice.  But  she  seemed  to 
be  firmly  and  impassively  judging  her  father,  as  his 
equal,  possibly  even  as  somewhat  his  superior.  And 
George  admired  the  force  of  her  individuality.  It  flat- 
tered him  that  a  being  so  independent  and  so  strong 
should  have  been  so  meltingly  responsive  to  him  in  the 
cathedral. 

An  adventurous  idea  occurred  to  him  in  a  flash  and 
he  impulsively  adopted  it.  His  latchkey  was  in  his 
pocket,  but  if  the  house  door  was  once  opened  he  would 
lose  her, —  he  would  have  to  go  forth  and  seek  liis  dinner 
and  she  would  remain  in  the  house ;  whereas,  barred  out 
of  the  house,  she  would  be  bound  to  him, —  they  would 
be  thrust  together  into  exquisite  contingencies,  into  all 
the  deep  potentialities  of  dark  London. 

"  Dash  it !  "  he  said,  first  fumbling  in  one  waistcoat- 
pocket,  and  then  ledging  the  portfolio  against  a  step 
and  fumbling  in  both  waistcoat-pockets  simultaneously. 
"  I  must  have  left  it  in  my  other  clothes." 

It  is  doubtful  whether  his  conscience  troubled  him. 
But  he  had  a  very  exciting  sense  of  risk  and  of  romance 
and  of  rapture,  as  though  he  had  done  something  won- 
derful and  irremediable. 

"  Ah  !  Well !  "  she  murmured,  instantly  acquiescent, 
and  without  the  least  hesitation  descended  the  steps. 

How  many  girls  (he  demanded)  would  or  could  have 
made  up  their  minds  and  faced  the  situation  like  that.'* 
Her  faculty  of  decision  was  simply  masculine!  He 
looked  at  her  in  the  twilight  and  she  was  inimitable,  un- 
paralleled. And  yet  b}'  virtue  of  the  wet  glistening  of 
her  eyes  in  the  cathedral  she  had  somehow  become  mys- 
tically his  !     He  permitted  himself  the  suspicion :  "  Per- 


MARGUERITE  47 

haps  she  guesses  that  I'm  only  pretending  about  the 
latchkey."  The  suspicion  which  made  her  an  accessory 
to  his  crime  did  not  lower  her  in  his  eyes.  On  the  con- 
trary the  enchanting  naughtiness  with  which  it  invested 
her  only  made  her  variety  more  intoxicant  and  her  per- 
fection more  perfect.  His  regret  was  that  the  suspi- 
cion was  not  a  certainty. 

Before  a  word  could  be  said  as  to  the  next  move,  a 
figure  in  a  grey  suit  and  silk  hat,  and  both  arms  filled 
with  packages,  passed  in  front  of  the  gate  and  then 
halted. 

"Oh!  It's  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith!"  exclaimed 
Marguerite.  "  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith,  we're  locked 
out  till  father  comes."  She  completed  the  tale  of  the 
mishap,  to  George's  equal  surprise  and  mortification. 

Mr.  Buckingham  Smith,  with  Mr.  Alfred  Prince,  was 
tenant  of  the  studio  at  the  back  of  No.  8.  He  raised 
liis  hat  as  well  as  an  occupied  arm  would  allow. 

"  Come  and  wait  in  the  studio,  then,"  he  suggested 
bluntly. 

"You  know  Mr.  Cannon,  don't  you.?"  said  Mar- 
guerite, embarrassed. 

George  and  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  had  in  fact  been 
introduced  to  one  another  weeks  earlier  in  the  Grove  by 
Mr.  Haim.  Thereafter  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  had, 
as  George  imagined,  saluted  George  with  a  kind  of 
jealous  defiance  and  mistrust,  and  the  acquaintance 
had  not  progressed.  Nor,  by  the  way,  had  George's 
dreams  been  realised  of  entering  deeply  into  the  artistic 
life  of  Chelsea.  Chelsea  had  been  no  more  welcoming 
than  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith.  But  now  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham Smith  grew  affable  and  neighbourly.  Behind  the 
man's  inevitable  insistence  that  George  should  accom- 
pany ]Miss  Haim  into  the  studio  was  a  genuine  eager 
hospitality. 


48  THE  ROLL-CALL 

The  studio  was  lofty  and  large,  occupying  most  of 
the  garden  space  of  No.  8.  Crimson  rep  curtains, 
hung  on  a  thick,  blackened,  brass  rod,  divided  it  into 
two  unequal  parts.  By  the  wall  nearest  the  house  a 
staircase  ran  up  to  a  door  high  in  the  gable,  which  door 
communicated  by  a  covered  bridge  with  the  second  floor 
of  No.  8,  where  the  artists  had  bedrooms.  The  arrange- 
ment was  a  characteristic  example  of  the  manner  in 
which  building  was  added  to  building  in  London  con- 
trary to  the  intention  of  the  original  laying-out,  and 
George  in  his  expert  capacity  wondered  how  the  plans 
had  been  kept  within  the  b^'e-laws  of  the  borough,  and 
by  what  chicane  the  consent  of  the  ground-landlord  had 
been  obtained. 

Mr.  Alfred  Prince,  whom  also  George  knew  slightly, 
was  trimming  a  huge  oil-lamp  which  depended  by  a  wire 
from  the  scarcely  visible  apex  of  the  room.  ^\Tien  at 
length  the  natural  perversity  of  the  lamp  had  been 
mastered  and  the  metal  shade  replaced,  George  got  a 
general  view  of  the  immense  and  complex  disorder  of 
the  studio.  It  was  obviously  very  dirty  —  even  in  the 
lamplight  the  dust  could  be  seen  in  drifts  on  the  moveless 
folds  of  the  curtains  —  it  was  a  pigstye ;  but  it  was 
romantic  with  shadowed  spaces,  and  gleams  of  copper 
and  of  the  pale  arms  of  the  etching-press,  and  glimpses 
of  pictures ;  and  the  fellow  desired  a  studio  of  his  own  ! 
He  was  glad,  now,  that  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  had 
invited  them  in.  He  had  wanted  to  keep  Marguerite 
Haim  to  himself;  but  it  was  worth  while  to  visit  the 
studio,  and  it  was  especially  worth  while  to  watch  her 
under  the  illumination  of  the  lamp. 

"  Lucky  we  have  a  clean  table-cloth,"  said  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham Smith,  opening  his  packages  and  setting  a  table. 
"  Brawn,  Miss  Haim !     And  beer.  Miss  Haim !     That 


MARGUERITE  49 

is  to  say,  Pilsener.  From  the  only  place  in  Chelsea 
where  you  can  get  it." 

And  his  packages  really  did  contain  brawn  and  beer 
(four  bottles  of  the  Pilsener)  ;  also  bread  and  a  slice  of 
butter.  The  visitors  learnt  that  they  had  happened  on 
a  feast,  a  feast  which  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  had  con- 
ceived and  ordained,  a  feast  to  celebrate  the  triumph  of 
Mr.  Alfred  Prince.  An  etching  by  Mr.  Prince  had 
been  bought  by  Vienna.  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  did 
not  say  that  the  etching  had  been  bought  by  any  par- 
ticular gallery  in  Vienna.  He  said  "  by  Vienna,"  giv- 
ing the  idea  that  all  Vienna,  every  man,  woman  and 
child  in  that  distant  and  enlightened  city  where  etchings 
were  truly  understood,  had  combined  for  the  possession 
of  a  work  by  Mr.  Prince.  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith 
opined  that  soon  every  gallery  in  Europe  would  be 
purchasing  examples  of  Alfred  Prince.  He  snatched 
from  a  side-table  and  showed  the  identical  authentic 
letter  from  Vienna  to  Mr.  Alfred  Prince,  with  its  official 
heading,  foreign  calligraphy,  and  stilted  English.  The 
letter  was  very  complimentary. 

In  George's  estimation  Mr.  Prince  did  not  look  the 
part  of  an  etcher  of  continental  renown.  He  was  a 
small,  pale  man,  with  a  small  brown  beard,  very  shabby, 
and  he  was  full  of  small  nervous  gestures.  He  had  the 
innocently  red  nose  which  pertains  to  indigestion.  His 
trousers  bagged  horribly  at  the  knees,  and  he  wore 
indescribable  slippers.  He  said  little,  in  an  extremely 
quiet,  weak  voice.  His  eyes,  however,  were  lively  and 
attractive.  He  was  old,  probably  at  least  thirty-five. 
Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  made  a  marked  contrast  to  him. 
Tall,  with  newish  clothes,  a  powerful  voice  and  decisive 
gestures,  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  dominated,  though 
he  was  younger  than  his  friend.     He  tried  to  please. 


50  THE  ROLL-CALL 

and  he  mingled  the  grand  seigneurial  style  with  the 
abrupt.  It  was  he  who  played  both  the  parlourmaid 
and  the  host.  He  forced  Marguerite  to  have  some 
brawn,  serving  her  with  a  vast  portion ;  but  he  could 
not  force  her  to  take  Pilsener. 

*'  Now,  Mr.  Cannon,"  he  said,  pouring  beer  into  a 
glass  with  an  up-and-down  motion  of  the  bottle  so  as  to 
put  a  sparkling  head  on  the  beer. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  George  decidedly.  "  I  won't 
have  beer." 

Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  gazed  at  him  challengingly 
out  of  his  black  eyes.  "  Oh !  But  you've  got  to,"  he 
said.  It  was  as  if  he  had  said :  "  I  am  generous.  I  love 
to  be  hospitable,  but  I  am  not  going  to  have  my  hospital- 
ity thwarted  and  you  needn't  think  it." 

George  accepted  the  beer  and  joined  in  the  toasting 
of  Mr.  Alfred  Prince's  health, 

"  Old  chap !  "  Mr.  Bucking-ham  Smith  greeted  his 
chum,  and  then  to  George  and  Marguerite,  informingly 
find  seriously :  "  One  of  the  best." 

It  was  during  the  snack  that  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith 
began  to  display  the  etchings  of  Mr.  Alfred  Prince, 
massed  in  a  portfolio.  He  extolled  them  with  his  mouth 
half  full  of  brawn,  or  between  two  gulps  of  Pilsener. 
They  impressed  George  deeply, —  they  were  so  rich  and 
dark  and  austere. 

"  Old  Princey  boy's  one  of  the  finest  etchers  in  Eu- 
rope to-day,  if  you  ask  me,"  said  Mr.  Buckingham 
Smith  ofF-handedly,  and  with  the  air  of  stating  the  ob- 
vious. And  George  thought  that  Mr.  Prince  was.  The 
etchings  were  not  signed  "  Alfred  Prince,"  but  just 
"  Prince,"  which  was  quietly  imposing.  Everybody 
agreed  that  Vienna  had  chosen  the  best  one. 

"  It's  a  dry-point,  isn't  it.?  "  Marguerite  asked,  peer- 
ing into  it.     George  started.     This  single  remark  con- 


MARGUERITE  51 

vinced  him  that  she  knew  all  about  etching,  whereas  he 
himself  knew  nothing.  He  did  not  even  know  exactly 
what  a  dry-point  was. 

"  Mostly,"  said  Mr.  Prince.  *'  You  can  only  get 
that  peculiar  quality  of  line  in  dry-point." 

George  perceived  that  etching  was  an  entrancing 
subject,  and  he  determined  to  learn  something  about  it, 
—  everything  about  it. 

Then  came  the  turn  of  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith's 
paintings.  These  were  not  signed  "  Smith  "  as  the  etch- 
ings were  signed  "  Prince."  By  no  means  !  They  were 
signed  "  Buckingham  Smith."  George  much  admired 
them,  though  less  than  he  admired  the  etchings.  They 
were  very  striking  and  ingenious,  in  particular  the 
portraits  and  the  still  life  subjects.  He  had  to  admit 
that  these  fellows  to  whom  he  had  scarcely  given  a 
thought,  these  fellows  who  existed  darkly  behind  the 
house,  were  prodigiously  accomplished. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith,  negli- 
gently, "  you  can't  get  any  idea  of  them  by  this  light, — 
though,"  he  added,  wamingly,  "  it's  the  finest  artificial 
light  going.     Better  than  all  your  electricity." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Mr.  Prince  sighed  and  said : 

"  I  was  thinking  of  going  up  to  the  Promenades  to- 
night, but  Buck  won't  go." 

Georffe  took  fire  at  once.  "  The  Glazounov  ballet 
music  ?  " 

"Glazounov?"  repeated  Mr.  Prince  uncertainly. 
"  No.     I  rather  wanted  to  hear  the  new  Elgar." 

George  was  disappointed,  for  he  had  derived  from 
Mr.  Enwright  positive  opinions  about  the  relative  im- 
portance of  Elgar  and  Glazounov. 

"Go  often?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Prince.  "  I  haven't  been  this  sea- 
son yet,  but  I'm  always  meaning  to."     He  smiled  apol- 


52  THE  ROLL-CALL 

ogetically.     "  And  I  thought  to-night "     Despite 

appearances,  he  was  not  indifferent  after  all  to  his  great 
Viennese  triumph ;  he  had  had  some  mild  notion  of  his 
own  of  celebrating  the  affair. 

"  I  suppose  this  is  what  etchings  are  printed  with," 
said  George  to  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith,  for  the  sake 
of  conversation,  and  he  moved  towards  the  press.  The 
reception  given  to  the  wonderful  name  of  Glazounov 
in  that  studio  was  more  than  a  disappointment  for 
George;  he  felt  obscurely  that  it  amounted  to  a  snub. 

Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  instantly  became  the  urbane 
and  alert  showman.  He  explained  how  the  pressure 
was  regulated.  He  pulled  the  capstan-like  arms  of  the 
motive  wheel  and  the  blanketed  steel  bed  slid  smoothly 
under  the  glittering  cylinder.  Although  George  had 
often  been  in  his  stepfather's  printing  establishment,  he 
now  felt  for  the  first  time  the  fascination  of  manual 
work,  of  artisanship,  in  art,  and  he  regretted  that  the 
architect  had  no  such  labour.  He  could  indistinctly 
hear  Mr.  Prince  talking  to  Marguerite. 

"  This  is  a  monotype,"  said  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith, 
picking  up  a  dusty  print  off  the  window-sill.  "  I  do 
one  occasionally." 

"  Did  you  do  this.''  "  asked  George,  who  had  no  idea 
what  a  monotype  was  and  dared  not  enquire. 

"  Yes.  They're  rather  amusing  to  do.  You  just 
use  a  match  or  your  finger  or  anything." 

"It's  jolly  good,"  said  George.  *'D'you  know,  it 
reminds  me  a  bit  of  Cezanne." 

Of  course  it  was  in  Paris  that  he  had  heard  of  the 
great  original,  the  martyr  and  saviour  of  modern  paint- 
ing. Equally  of  course  it  was  Mr.  Enwright  who  had 
inducted  him  into  the  esoteric  cult  of  Cezanne,  and 
magically  made  him  see  marvels  in  what  at  the  first 
view  had  struck  him  as  a  wilful  and  clumsy  absurdity. 


MARGUERITE  53 


« 


Oh?  "  murmured  Buck,  stiffening. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Cezanne?  " 

"  Rule  it  out !  "  said  Buck,  with  a  warning  cantanker- 
ous inflection,  firmly  and  almost  brutally  reproving  this 
conversational  delinquency  of  George's.  "  Rule  it  out, 
young  man !  We  don't  want  any  of  that  sort  of  moun- 
tebanking in  England.     We  know  what  it's  worth." 

George  was  cowed.  More,  his  faith  in  Cezanne  was 
shaken.  He  smiled  sheepishly  and  was  angry  with 
himself.  Then  he  heard  Mr.  Prince  saying  calmly  and 
easily  to  Miss  Haim, —  the  little  old  man  could  not  in 
fact  be  so  nervous  as  he  seemed: 

"  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  come  with  me  to  the  Prom?  " 

George  was  staggered  and  indignant.  It  was  incon- 
ceivable, monstrous,  that  those  two  should  be  on  such 
terms  as  would  warrant  Mr.  Prince's  astounding  pro- 
posal. He  felt  that  he  simply  could  not  endure  them 
marching  off  together  for  the  evening.  Her  accept- 
ance of  the  proposal  would  be  an  outrage.  He  trem- 
bled. However,  she  declined,  and  he  was  lifted  from 
the  rack. 

"  I  must  really  go,"  she  said.  "  Father's  sure  to  be 
home  by  now." 

"  May  I?  "  demanded  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith,  stoop- 
ing over  Marguerite's  portfolio  of  designs,  and  glanc- 
ing round  at  her  for  permission  to  open  it.  Already 
his  hand  was  on  the  tape. 

"  On  no  account !  "  she  cried.  "  No !  No !  .  .  . 
Mr.  Cannon,  please  take  it  from  him !  "  She  was  seri- 
ous. 

"Oh!  All  right!  All  right!"  Mr.  Buckingham 
Smith  rose  to  the  erect  good-humouredly. 

After  a  decent  interval  George  took  the  portfolio 
under  his  arm.  Marguerite  was  giving  thanks  for  hos- 
pitality.    They  left.     George  was  singularly  uplifted 


54  THE  ROLL-CALL 

by  the  fact  that  she  never  concealed  from  him  those 
designs  upon  which  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  had  not 
been  allowed  gaze.  And  certain  contretemps  and  dis- 
appointments notwithstanding,  he  was  impressed  by  the 
entity  of  the  studio.  It  had  made  a  desirable  picture 
in  his  mind:  the  romantic  paraphernalia,  the  etcliings, 
the  canvases,  the  lights  and  shadows,  the  informality, 
the  warm  odours  of  the  lamp  and  of  the  Pilsener,  the 
dazzling  white  of  the  tablecloth,  the  quick,  positive 
tones  of  Buckingham  Smith,  who  had  always  to  be 
convincing  not  only  others  but  himself  that  he  was  a 
strong  man  whose  views  were  unassailable,  the  eyes  of 
Buckingham  Smith  like  black  holes  in  his  handsome 
face,  the  stylish  gestures  and  coarse  petulance  of 
Buckingham  Smith,  the  shy  assurance  of  little  old 
Prince.  He  envied  the  pair.  Their  existence  had  a 
cloistral  quality  which  appealed  to  something  in  him. 
They  were  continually  in  the  studio,  morning,  after- 
noon, evening.  They  were  independent.  They  had 
not  to  go  forth  to  catch  omnibuses  and  trains,  to  sit 
in  offices,  to  utilise  the  services  of  clerks,  to  take  orders, 
to  consider  the  idiosyncrasies  of  superiors.  They  were 
self-contained,  they  were  consecrated,  and  they  were 
free.  No  open  competitions  for  them !  No  struggles 
with  committees  and  with  contractors  !  And  no  waiting 
for  the  realisation  of  an  idea !  They  sat  down  and 
worked  and  the  idea  came  at  once  to  life,  complete,  with- 
out the  necessity  of  other  human  co-operation !  They 
did  not  sit  in  front  of  a  painting  or  etching  and  say,  as 
architects  had  too  often  to  say  in  front  of  their  designs : 
"  That  is  wasted !  That  will  never  come  into  being." 
Architecture  might  be  the  art  of  arts,  and  indeed  it  was, 
but  there  were  terrible  drawbacks  to  it.   .   .   . 

And  next  he  was  outside  in  the  dark  with  Marguerite 


MARGUERITE  55 

Haim,  and  new,  intensified  sensations  thrilled  him.  She 
was  verj  marvellous  in  the  dark. 

Mr.  Haim  had  not  returned. 

*'  Well !  "  she  muttered,  and  then  dreamily :  "  WTiat 
a  funny  little  man  Mr.  Prince  is,  isn't  he?  "  She  spoke 
condescendingly. 

"  Anyhow,"  said  George,  who  had  been  respecting 
Mr.  Alfred  Prince.  "  Anyhow  I'm  glad  you  didn't  go 
to  the  concert  with  him.'* 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  with  apparent  simplicity.  "  I 
adore  the  Proms.     Don't  you?  " 

"  Let's  go,  then,"  he  suggested.  "  We  shan't  be 
very  late,  and  what  else  is  there  for  you  to  do?  " 

Plis  audacity  frightened  him.  There  she  stood  with 
him  in  the  porch,  silent,  reflective.  She  would  never 
go.  For  sundry  practical  and  other  reasons  she  would 
refuse.     She  must  refuse. 

"  I'll  go,"  she  said,  as  if  announcing  a  well-meditated 
decision.  He  could  scarcely  believe  it.  This  could  not 
be  London  that  he  was  in. 

They  deposited  the  portfolio  under  the  mat  in  the 
porch. 

IV 

When  they  got  into  the  haU  the  band  was  sending 
forth  a  tremendous  volume  of  brilliant  exliilarating 
sound.  A  vast  melody  seemed  to  ride  on  waves  of  brass. 
The  conductor  was  very  excited,  and  his  dark  locks 
shook  with  the  violence  of  his  gestures  as  he  urged 
onward  the  fingers  and  arms  of  the  executants  flying 
madly  through  the  maze  of  the  music  to  a  climax. 
There  were  flags ;  there  was  a  bank  of  flowers ;  there 
was  a  fountain :  there  were  the  huge  crimson-domed 
lamps  that  poured  down  their  radiance;  and  there  was 


56  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  packed  crowd  of  straw-hatted  and  floral-hatted  erect 
fibres  gazing  with  upturned  intent  faces  at  the  im- 
mense orchestral  machine.  Then  came  a  final  crash, 
and  for  an  instant  the  thin  silvery  tinkle  of  the  foun- 
tain supervened  in  an  enchanted  hush ;  and  then  terrific 
applause,  with  yells  and  thuds  above  and  below  the 
hand-clapping,  filled  and  inflamed  the  whole  interior. 
The  conductor,  recovering  from  a  collapse,  turned 
round  and  bowed  low  with  his  hand  on  his  shirt-front ; 
his  hair  fell  over  his  forehead ;  he  straightened  himself 
and  threw  the  hair  back  again,  and  so  he  kept  on,  time 
after  time  casting  those  plumes  to  and  fro.  At  last, 
sated  with  homage,  he  thought  of  justice,  and  pointed 
to  the  band  and  smiled  with  an  unconvincing  air  of 
humility,  as  if  saying :  "  I  am  naught.  Here  are  the 
true  heroes."  And  on  the  end  of  his  stick  he  lifted  to 
their  feet  eighty  men,  whose  rising  drew  invigorated 
shouts.  Enthusiasm  reigned ;  triumph  was  accom- 
plished. Even  when  the  applause  had  expired,  enthu- 
siasm still  reigned ;  and  every  person  present  had  the 
illusion  of  a  share  in  the  triumph.  It  was  a  great 
night  at  the  Promenades. 

George  and  Marguerite  looked  at  each  other  happily. 
They  both  were  inspired  by  the  feeling  that  life  was  a 
grand  tiling,  and  that  they  had  reached,  suddenly,  one 
of  the  summits  of  existence.  George,  observing  the  ex- 
citement in  her  eyes,  thought  how  wonderful  it  was  that 
she  too  should  be  excited. 

"  What  was  that  piece?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  quite  know,"  he  said.  "  There  don't  ap- 
pear to  be  any  programmes  about."  He  wished  he 
had  been  able  to  identify  the  piece,  but  he  was  too 
content  to  be  ashamed  of  his  ignorance.  Moreover  his 
ignorance  was  hers  also,  and  he  liked  that. 

The  music  resumed.     He  listened,  ready  to  put  him- 


MARGUERITE  67 

self  into  the  mood  of  admiration  if  it  was  the  Glazounov 
item.  Was  it  Glazounov?  He  could  not  be  certain. 
It  sounded  fine.  Surely  it  sounded  Russian.  Then  he 
had  a  glimpse  of  a  programme  held  by  a  man  standing 
near  and  he  peered  at  it.  "  No.  4.  Elgar  —  Sea- 
Pictures."     No.  5  was  the  Glazounov. 

"  It's  only  the  Elgar,"  he  said,  with  careless  con- 
descension, perceiving  at  once,  by  the  mere  virtue  of  a 
label,  that  the  music  was  not  fine  and  not  Russian.  He 
really  loved  music,  but  he  happened  to  be  at  that  age, 
from  which  some  people  never  emerge,  at  which  the 
judgment  depends  almost  completely  on  extraneous  sug- 
gestion. 

"  Oh !  "  murmured  Marguerite  indifferently,  respond- 
ing to  his  tone. 

"  Glazounov's  next,"  he  said. 

"  I  suppose  we  couldn't  sit  down,"  she  suggested. 

Yet  it  was  she  who  had  preferred  the  Promenade  to 
the  Grand  Circle  or  the  Balcony. 

"  We'll  find  something,"  he  said,  with  his  usual  assur- 
ance. And  in  the  corridor  that  surrounded  the  hemi- 
cycle  they  climbed  up  on  to  a  narrow  ledge  in  the  wall 
and  sat  side  by  side  in  perfect  luxury,  not  dreaming 
that  they  were  doing  anything  unusual  or  undignified. 
As  a  fact,  they  were  not.  Other  couples  were  perched 
on  other  ledges,  and  still  others  on  the  cold  steam-pipes. 
A  girl  with  a  big  face  and  heavy  red  lips  sat  alone, 
lounging,  her  head  aslant.  She  had  an  open  copy  of 
"  Home  Notes  "  in  one  hand.  Elgar  had  sent  the 
simple  creature  into  an  ecstasy,  and  she  never  stirred ; 
probably  she  did  not  know  any  one  named  Enwright. 
Promenaders  promenaded  in  and  out  of  the  corridor, 
and  up  and  down  the  corridor,  and  nobody  troubled  to 
glance  twice  either  at  the  heavy-lipped,  solitary  girl, 
or  at  the  ledged  couples. 


58  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Through  an  arched  doorway  could  be  seen  the  orches- 
tra and  half  the  auditorium. 

"  This  is  the  best  seat  in  the  hall,"  George  observed 
proudly.     Marguerite  smiled  at  him. 

When  the  Sea  Pictures  were  finished  she  gave  a  sigh 
of  appreciation,  having  forgotten,  it  seemed,  that  per- 
sons wno  had  come  to  admire  Glazounov  ought  not  to 
relish  Elgar.  And  George  too,  reflecting  upon  the  sen- 
sations produced  within  him  by  Elgar,  was  ready  to 
admit  that,  though  Elgar  could  of  course  not  be  classed 
with  the  foreigner,  there  might  be  something  to  be  said 
for  him  after  all. 

"  This  is  just  what  I  needed,"  she  murmured. 

"Oh?" 

"  I  was  very  depressed  this  afternoon,"  she  said. 

"  Were  you  ?  "     He  had  not  noticed  it. 

"  Yes.  They've  cut  down  my  price  from  a  pound  to 
seventeen  and  six."  "  They  "  were  the  employing  book- 
binders, and  the  price  was  the  fixed  price  for  a  design 
—  side  and  back. 

He  was  shocked,  and  he  felt  guilty.  How  was  it  that 
he  had  noticed  nothing  in  her  demeanour.'*  He  had 
been  full  of  the  misfortune  of  his  firm,  and  she  had  made 
the  misfortune  her  own,  keeping  silence  about  the  grind- 
ing harshness  of  bookbinders.  He  was  an  insensible 
egotist,  and  girls  were  wondrous.  At  any  rate  this  girl 
was  wondrous.  He  had  an  intense  desire  to  atone  for 
his  insensibility  and  his  egotism  by  protecting  her,  spoil- 
ing her,  soothing  her  into  forgetfulness  of  her  trouble. 
.  .  .  Ah !  He  understood  now  what  she  meant  when 
she  had  replied  to  his  suggestion  as  to  visiting  the  cathe- 
dral:    "  It  might  do  me  good." 

"  Plow  rotten !  "  he  exclaimed,  expressing  his  sym- 
pathy by  means  of  disgust.  "  Couldn't  you  tell  them 
to  go  to  the  dickens.''  " 


MARGUERITE  69 


(( 


You  have  to  take  what  they'll  give,"  she  answered. 
"  Especially  when  they  begin  to  talk  about  bad  trade 
and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Well,  it's  absolutely  rotten !  " 

It  was  not  the  arbitrary  reduction  of  her  earnings 
that  he  resented,  but  the  fact  of  her  victimhood.  Scan- 
dalous, infamous,  that  this  rare  and  delicate  creature 
should  be  defenceless  against  commercial  brutes ! 

The  Glazounov  ballet  music,  "  The  Seasons,"  started. 
Knowing  himself  justified,  he  surrendered  himself  to  it, 
to  its  exoticism,  to  its  Russianism,  to  its  wilful  and 
disconcerting  beaut}'.  And  there  was  no  composer  like 
Glazounov.  Beneath  the  sensory-  spell  of  the  music,  his 
memory  wandered  about  through  the  whole  of  his  life. 
He  recalled  days  in  his  mother's  boarding-house  at 
Brighton ;  musical  evenings  at  which  John  Orgreave  was 
present,  at  his  stepfather's  house  in  the  Five  Towns ; 
and  in  all  kinds  of  scenes  at  the  later  home  at  Ladde- 
redge  Hall,  scenes  in  which  his  mother  again  predomi- 
nated, becoming  young  again  and  learning  sports  and 
horsewomanship  as  a  girl  might  have  learnt  them,  .  .  . 
And  they  were  all  beautiful  beneath  the  music.  The 
music  softened ;  the  fountain  was  heard ;  the  striking  of 
matches  was  heard.  .  .  .  Still,  all  was  beautiful.  Then 
he  touched  Marguerite's  hand  as  it  rested  a  little  behind 
her  on  the  ledge.  The  effect  of  contact  was  surprising. 
With  all  his  other  thoughts  he  had  not  ceased  to  think 
of  the  idea  of  shielding  and  enveloping  her.  But  now 
this  idea  utterly  possessed  him.  The  music  grew  louder, 
and  as  it  were  under  cover  of  the  music  he  put  his  hand 
round  her  hand.  It  was  a  venturesome  act  with  such 
a  girl;  he  was  afraid.  .  .  .  The  hand  lay  acquiescent 
within  his  !  He  tightened  the  pressure.  The  hand  lay 
acquiescent ;  it  accepted.  The  flashing  realisation  of 
her  compliance  overwhelmed  him.     He  was  holding  the 


60  THE  ROLL-CALL 

very  symbol  of  wild  purity,  and  there  was  no  effort  to 
be  free.  None  guessed.  None  could  see.  They  two 
had  the  astonishing,  the  ineffable  secret  between  them. 
He  looked  at  her  profile,  taking  precautions.  No  sign 
of  alarm  or  disturbance.  Her  rapt  glance  was  fixed 
steadily  on  the  orchestra  framed  in  the  arched  door- 
way. .  .  .  Incredible,  the  soft,  warm  delicacy  of  the 
cotton  glove ! 

The  applause  at  the  end  of  the  number  awoke  them. 
He  released  her  hand.  She  slipped  neatly  down  from 
the  ledge. 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  be  going  back  home.  .  .  . 
Father  .  .  ."  she  murmured.  She  met  his  eyes  ;  but  his 
embarrassed  eyes  would  not  meet  hers. 

"  Certainly !  "  he  agreed  quickly,  though  they  had 
been  in  the  hall  little  more  than  half-an-hour.  He 
would  have  agreed  to  any  suggestion  from  her.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  least  he  could  do  at  that  moment 
was  to  fulfil  unquestioningly  her  slightest  wish.  Then 
she  looked  away,  and  he  saw  that  a  deep  blush  gradually 
spread  over  her  lovely  face.  This  was  the  supreme 
impressive  phenomenon.  Before  that  blush  he  was 
devotional. 


They  walked  down  Regent  Street  almost  in  silence, 
enjoying  simultaneously  the  silence  and  solitude  of  the 
curving  thoroughfare  and  the  memory  of  the  bright, 
crowded,  triumphant  scene  which  they  had  left.  At 
Piccadilly  Circus  George  enquired  for  the  new  open 
motor-buses  which  had  just  begun  to  run  between  the 
Circus  and  Putne}',  passing  the  RedclifFe  Arms.  Al- 
ready, within  a  3'ear,  the  time  was  historically  distant 
when  a  policeman  had  refused  to  allow  the  automobile 
of  a  member  of  Parliament  to  enter  Palace  Yard,  on 


THE  ROLL-CALL  61 

the  ground  that  there  was  no  precedent  for  such  a  dese- 
cration. The  new  motor-buses,  however,  did  not  run 
at  night.  Human  daring  had  limits,  and  it  was  re- 
ported that  at  least  one  motor-driver,  succumbing  to 
the  awful  nervous  strain  of  guiding  these  fast  expresses 
through  the  traffic  of  the  West  End,  had  been  taken 
to  the  lunatic  asylum.  George  called  a  hansom,  of 
which  there  were  dozens  idling  about.  Marguerite 
seemed  tacitly  to  object  to  this  act  as  the  germ  of 
extravagance;  but  it  was  the  only  classic  thing  to  do, 
and  he  did  it. 

The  hansom  rolled  rapidly  and  smoothly  along  upon 
that  well-established  novelty,  india-rubber  tires.  Bits 
of  the  jingling  harness  oscillated  regularly  from  side 
to  side.  At  intervals  the  whip-thong  dragged  gently 
across  the  horse's  back,  and  the  horse  lifted  and  shook 
its  head.  The  shallow  and  narrow  interior  of  the 
hansom  was  constructed  with  exactitude  to  hold  two. 
Neither  occupant  could  move  in  any  direction,  and 
neither  desired  to  move.  The  splendidly  lighted  ave- 
nues, of  which  every  detail  could  be  discerned  as  by 
day,  flowed  evenly  past  the  vehicle. 

"  I've  never  been  in  a  hansom  before,"  said  Mar- 
guerite, timidly  —  because  the  situation  was  so  dismay- 
ing in  its  enchantment. 

He,  from  the  height  of  two  years  of  hansom-using, 
was  touched,  delighted,  even  impressed.  The  stagger- 
ing fact  increased  her  virginal  charm  and  his  protective- 
ness.  He  thought  upon  the  simplicity  of  her  existence. 
Of  course  she  had  never  been  in  a  hansom!  Hansoms 
were  obviously  outside  her  scheme.  He  said  nothing, 
but  he  sought  for  and  found  her  hand  beneath  the  apron. 
She  did  not  resist.  He  reflected:  "Can  she  resist.'' 
She  cannot."  Her  hand  was  in  a  living  swoon.  Her 
hand  was  his ;  it  was  admittedly  his.     She  could  never 


62  THE  ROLL-CALL 

deny  it,  now.  He  touched  the  button  of  the  glove,  and 
undid  it.  Then,  moving  her  passive  hand,  he  brought 
both  his  to  it,  and  with  infinitely  delicate  and  considerate 
gestures  he  slowly  drew  off  the  glove,  and  he  held  her 
hand  ungloved.  She  did  not  stir  nor  speak.  Nothing 
so  marvellous  as  her  exquisite  and  confiding  stillness  had 
ever  happened.  .  .  .  The  hansom  turned  into  Alexandra 
Grove,  and  when  it  stopped  he  pushed  the  glove  into 
her  hand,  which  closed  on  it.  As  they  descended  the 
cabman,  accustomed  to  peer  down  on  loves  pure  and 
impure,  gave  them  a  beneficent  look. 

"  He's  not  come  in,"  said  Marguerite,  glancing 
through  the  flap  of  the  front-door.  She  was  exceed- 
ingly self-conscious,  but  beneath  her  self-consciousness 
could  be  noticed  an  indignant  accusation  against  old 
Haim.      She  had  rung  the  bell  and  knocked. 

"  Are  you  sure?     Can  you  see  the  hatstand?  " 

"  I  can  see  it  enough  for  that." 

"  Look  here,"  George  suggested  with  false  lightness, 
"  I  expect  I  could  get  in  through  my  window."  His 
room  was  on  the  ground-floor,  and  not  much  agility  was 
needed  to  clamber  up  to  its  ledge  from  the  level  of  the 
area.  He  might  have  searched  his  pockets  again  and 
discovered  his  latchke}' ;  but  he  would  not.  Sooner 
than  admit  a  deception  he  would  have  remained  at  the 
door  with  her  all  night. 

"Think  you  could?" 

"  Yes.     I  could  slide  the  window-catch." 

He  jumped  down  the  steps  and  showed  her  how  he 
could  climb.  In  two  minutes  he  was  opening  the  front- 
door to  her  from  the  inside.  She  moved  towards  him 
in  the  gloom. 

"  Oh  !  My  portfolio !  "  She  stopped,  and  bent  down 
to  the  mat. 


MARGUERITE  63 

Then  she  busily  lighted  the  little  hall-lamp,  with  his 
matches,  and  hurried  down,  taking  the  matches,  to  the 
kitchen.  After  a  few  moments  George  followed  her; 
he  was  obliged  to  follow  her.  She  had  removed  her 
coat ;  it  lay  on  the  sole  chair.  The  hat  and  blouse  which 
she  wore  seemed  very  vivid  in  the  kitchen, —  vestiges 
of  past  glorious  episodes  in  concert-halls  and  hansoms. 
She  had  lighted  the  kitchen-lamp  and  was  standing 
apparently  idle.  The  alarm-clock  on  the  black  mantel- 
piece ticked  noisily.  The  cat  sat  indifferently  on  the 
corner  of  the  clean  bare  table.  George  hesitated  in  the 
doorway.  He  was  extremely  excited  because  the  tre- 
mendous fact  of  what  he  had  done  and  what  she  had 
permitted,  with  all  the  implications,  had  to  be  explicitly 
acknowledged  between  them.  Of  course  it  had  to  be 
acknowledged !  They  were  both  fully  aware  of  the 
thing,  she  as  well  as  he,  but  spoken  words  must  authen- 
ticate its  existence  as  only  spoken  words  could. 

She  said,  beginning  sternly  and  finishing  with  a  pe- 
culiar smile: 

"  I  do  think  this  business  of  father  and  Mrs.  Lobley 
is  going  rather  far." 

And  George  had  a  sudden  new  sense  of  the  purely 
feminine  adroitness  of  women.  In  those  words  she  had 
clearly  conceded  that  their  relations  were  utterly 
changed.  Never  before  had  she  made  even  the  slightest, 
most  distant  reference  to  the  monstrous  household  ac- 
tuality, unadmitted  and  yet  patent,  of  the  wooing  of 
Mrs.  Lobley  the  charwoman  by  her  father,  the  widower 
of  her  mother.  If  Mr.  Haim  stayed  away  from  home 
of  an  evening  Mrs.  Lobley  was  the  siren  who  deflected 
him  from  the  straight  domestic  path.  She  knew  it ; 
George  surmised  it ;  the  whole  street  had  its  suspicions. 
But  hitherto  Marguerite  had  given  no  sign.     She  now 


64  THE  ROLL-CALL 

created  George  the  confidant  of  her  resentment.  And 
her  smile  was  not  an  earnest  of  some  indulgence  for 
her  father, —  her  smile  was  for  George  alone. 

He  went  boldly  up  to  her,  put  his  arms  around  her 
and  kissed  her.  She  did  not  kiss.  But  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  kissed,  and  she  let  her  body  loose  in  his 
embrace.  She  looked  at  him  with  her  eyes  nearly  upon 
his,  and  her  eyes  glittered  with  a  mysterious  burning; 
he  knew  that  she  was  content.  That  she  should  be  con- 
tent, that  it  should  please  her  to  let  him  have  the  un- 
imaginable experience  of  holding  that  thrilled  and  thrill- 
ing body  close  to  his,  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  marvellous 
piece  of  sheer  luck  and  overwhelming  good-fortune. 
She  was  so  sensuous  and  yet  so  serious.  Her  gaze  stim- 
ulated not  only  love  but  conscience.  In  him  ambition 
was  superlatively  vigorous.  Nevertheless  he  felt  then 
as  though  he  had  never  really  known  ambition  till  that 
moment.  He  thought  of  the  new  century  and  of  a  new 
life.  He  perceived  the  childishness  and  folly  of  his 
favourite  idea  that  an  artist  ought  to  pass  through  a 
phase  of  Don  Juanism.  He  knew  that  the  task  of 
satisfying  the  lofty  and  exacting  and  unique  girl  would 
be  immense,  and  that  he  could  fulfil  it,  but  on  the  one 
condition  that  it  monopolised  his  powers.  Thus  he  was 
both  modest  and  proud,  anxious  and  divinely  elated. 
His  mind  was  the  scene  of  innumerable  impulses  and 
sensations  over  which  floated  the  banner  of  the  male  who 
has  won  an  impassioned  allegiance. 

"  Don't  let's  tell  any  one  yet,"  she  murmured. 

"  No." 

"  I  mean  for  a  long  time,"  she  insisted. 

"  No,  we  won't,"  he  agreed,  and  added  scornfully : 
"  They'd  only  say  we're  too  young." 

The  notion  of  secrecy  was  an  enchanting  notion. 

She  cut  magic  cake  and  poured  out  magic  milk.     And 


MARGUERITE  66 

they  ate  and  drank  together,  for  they  were  hungry. 
And  at  this  point  the  cat  began  to  show  an  interest 
in  their  doings. 

And  after  they  were  both  in  their  beds,  but  not  after 
they  were  asleep,  Mr.  Haim  by  the  clicking  of  a  latch- 
key in  a  lock,  reminded  them  of  something  which  they 
had  practically  forgotten  —  his  disordered  existence. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    CHARWOMAN 


George  entered  Alexandra  Grove  very  early  the  next 
evening,  having  dined  inadequately  and  swiftly  so  that 
he  might  reach  the  neighbourhood  of  Marguerite  at  the 
first  moment  justifiable.  He  would  have  omitted  dinner 
and  trusted  to  Marguerite's  kitchen,  only  that,  in  view 
of  the  secrecy  resolved  upon,  appearances  had  to  be 
preserved.  The  secrecy  in  itself  was  delicious,  but  even 
the  short  experiences  of  the  morning  had  shown  both  of 
them  how  extremely  difficult  it  would  be  for  two  people 
who  were  everything  to  each  other  to  behave  as  though 
they  were  nothing  to  each  other.  George  hoped,  how- 
ever, that  Mr.  Haim  would  again  be  absent,  and  he 
was  anticipating  exquisite  hours. 

At  the  precise  instant  when  he  put  his  latchkey  in 
the  door  the  door  was  pulled  away  from  him  by  a  hand 
within,  and  he  saw  a  woman  of  about  thirty  five,  plump 
but  not  stout,  in  a  blue  sateen  dress,  bonneted  but  not 
gloved.  She  had  pleasant,  commonplace  features  and 
brown  hair.  Several  seconds  elapsed  before  George  rec- 
ognised in  her  Mrs.  Lobley  the  charwoman  of  No.  S,  and 
when  he  did  so  he  was  a  little  surprised  at  her  present- 
ableness.  He  had  met  her  very  seldom  in  the  house. 
He  was  always  late  for  breakfast  and  his  breakfast  was 
always  waiting  for  him.  On  Sundays  he  was  generally 
out.     If  he  did  catch  sight  of  her,  she  was  invariably 

in  a  rough  apron  and  as  a  rule  on  her  knees.     Their 

6S 


THE  CHARWOMAN  '  67 

acquaintance  had  scarcely  progressed  far  enough  for 
him  to  call  her  "  Mrs.  Lob  "  with  any  confidence.  He 
had  never  seen  her  at  night,  though  upon  occasion  he 
had  heard  her  below  in  the  basement,  and  for  him  she 
was  associated  with  mysterious  nocturnal  goings  and 
comings  by  the  basement  door.  That  she  should  be 
using  the  front-door  was  as  startling  as  that  she  should 
be  so  nobly  attired  in  blue  sateen. 

"Good  evening  —  Mr.  Cannon,"  she  said,  in  her 
timid  voice,  too  thin  for  her  body.  He  noticed  that  she 
was  perturbed.  Hitherto  she  had  always  addressed 
him  as  "  sir." 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  said,  and  with  an  apologetic  air 
she  slipped  past  him  and  departed  out  of  the  house. 

Mr.  Haim  was  visible  just  within  the  doorway  of  the 
sitting-room,  and  behind  him  the  table  with  the  tea- 
things  still  on  it.  George  had  felt  considerably  self- 
conscious  in  Mr.  Haim's  presence  at  the  office;  and  he 
was  so  preoccupied  by  his  own  secret  mighty  alFair  that 
his  first  suspicion  connected  the  strange  apparition  of 
a  new  Mrs.  Lobley  and  the  peculiar  look  on  Mr.  Haim's 
face  with  some  disagreeable  premature  and  dramatic 
explosion  of  the  secret  mighty  affair.  His  thoughts, 
though  absurd,  ran  thus  because  they  could  not  run  in 
any  other  way. 

Ah,    Mr.     Cannon ! "     said    Mr.     Haim    queerly. 

You're  in  early  to-night." 

"  A  bit  earlier,"  George  admitted  with  caution. 
"  Have  to  read,  you  know."  He  was  using  the  word 
"  read  "  in  the  examination  sense. 

"  If  you  could  spare  me  a  minute,"  smiled  Mr.  Haim. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Have  a  cigarette,"  said  Mr.  Haim,  as  soon  as 
George  had  deposited  his  hat  and  come  into  the  room. 
This  quite  unprecedented  offer  reassured  George,  who 


« 


68  THE  ROLL-CALL 

in  spite  of  reason  had  continued  to  fear  that  the  land- 
lord had  something  on  his  mind  about  his  daughter  and 
his  lodger.  Mr.  Haim  presented  his  well-known  worn 
cigarette  case,  and  then  with  precise  and  calm  gestures 
carefully  shut  the  door. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. I  told  ]Mr.  Enwright  this  afternoon,  as  I 
thought  was  proper,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  the 
next  person  who  ought  to  be  informed." 

"Oh,  yes.?" 

"  I  am  going  to  be  married." 

"  The  deuce  you  are!  " 

The  light  words  had  scarceh'  escaped  from  young 
George  before  he  perceived  that  his  tone  was  a  mistakej 
and  that  Mr.  Haim  was  in  a  state  of  considerable  emo- 
tion, which  would  have  to  be  treated  very  carefully. 
And  George  too  now  suddenly  partook  of  the  emotion. 
He  felt  himself  to  be  astonished  and  even  shaken  by 
Mr.  Haim's  news.  The  atmosphere  of  the  interview 
changed  in  an  instant. 

Mr.  Haim  moved  silently  on  slippered  feet  to  the 
mantelpiece,  out  of  the  circle  of  lamplight,  and  dropped 
some  ash  into  the  empty  fire-place. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  George. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  Mr.  Haim  brightly,  seizing 
gratefully  on  the  fustian  phrase,  eager  to  hall-mark  it 
as  genuine  and  put  it  among  his  treasures.  Without 
doubt  he  was  flattered.  "  Yes,"  he  proceeded,  as 
it  were  reflectively,  "  I  have  asked  Mrs.  Lobley  to  be 
my  wife,  and  she  has  done  me  the  honour  to  consent." 
He  had  the  air  of  having  invented  the  words  specially 
to  indicate  that  Mrs.  Lobley  was  descending  from  a 
throne  in  order  to  espouse  him.  It  could  not  have 
occurred  to  him  that  they  had  ever  been  used  before 
and  that  the  formula  was  classic.     He  smiled  again, 


THE  CHARWOMAN  69 

and  went  on :  "  Of  course  I've  known  and  admired 
Mrs.  Lobley  for  a  long  time.  What  we  should  have 
done  without  her  valuable  help  in  this  house  I  don't 
like  to  think.     I  really  don't." 

"  *  Her  help  in  this  house,'  "  thought  the  ruthless 
George,  beliind  cigarette  smoke.  "  W\\y  doesn't  he 
say  right  out  she's  the  charwoman?  If  I  was  marry- 
ing a  charwoman,  I  should  say  I  was  marrying  a  char- 
woman." And  then  he  had  a  misgiving:  "  Should  I? 
I  wonder  whether  I  should."  And  he  remembered  that 
ultimately  the  charwoman  was  going  to  be  his  own 
mother-in-law.     He  was  aware  of  a  serious  qualm. 

"  Mrs.  Lobley  has  had  an  uphill  fight  since  her  first 
husband's  death,"  said  Mr.  Haim.  *'  He  was  an  insur- 
ance agent  —  the  Prudential.  She's  come  out  of  it 
splendidly.  She's  always  kept  up  her  little  home, 
though  it  was  only  two  rooms,  and  she'll  only  leave  it 
because  I  can  offer  her  a  better  one.  I  have  always 
admired  her,  and  I'm  sure  the  more  you  know  her  the 
more  you'll  like  her.  She's  a  woman  in  a  thousand, 
Mr.  Cannon." 

"  I  expect  she  is,"  George  agreed  feebly.  He  could 
not  think  of  anything  to  say. 

"And  I'm  thankful  I  can  offer  her  a  better  home. 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  now  that  at  one  time  I  began 
to  fear  I  shouldn't  have  a  home.  I've  had  my  ambitions, 
Mr.  Cannon.  I  was  meant  for  a  quantity  surveyor.  I 
was  one  —  you  may  say.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  I 
came  down  in  the  world,  but  I  kept  my  head  above 
water.  And  then  in  the  end,  with  a  little  money  I  had, 
I  bought  this  house.  £575.  It  needed  some  negotia- 
tion. Ground  rent  £10  per  annum,  and  seventy  years 
to  run.  You  see,  all  along  I  had  had  the  idea  of  build- 
ing a  studio  in  the  garden.  I  was  one  of  the  first  to 
see  the  commercial  possibilities  of  studios  in  Chelsea. 


70  THE  ROLL-CALL 

But  of  course  I  know  Chelsea.  I  made  the  drawings 
for  the  studio  myself.  Mr.  Enwright  kindly  suggested 
a  few  improvements.  With  all  my  experience  I  was  in 
a  position  to  get  it  put  up  as  cheaply  as  possible. 
You'd  be  surprised  at  the  number  of  people  in  the  build- 
ing line  anxious  to  oblige  me.  It  cost  under  £300.  I 
had  to  borrow  most  of  it.  But  I've  paid  it  off.  What's 
the  consequence.''  The  consequence  is  that  the  rent  of 
the  studio  and  the  top  rooms  brings  me  in  over  eight 
per  cent,  on  all  I  spent  on  the  house  and  the  studio 
together.  And  I'm  living  rent  free  myself." 
"  Jolly  good  !  " 

"  Yes.  ...  If  I'd  had  capital,  Mr.  Cannon,  I  could 
have  made  thousands  out  of  studios.  Thousands.  I 
fancy  I've  the  gift.  But  I've  never  had  the  capital. 
And  that's  all  there  is  to  it."  He  smacked  his  lips, 
and  leaned  back  against  the  mantelpiece.  "  You  may 
tell  me  I've  realised  my  ambitions.  Not  all  of  them, 
Mr.  Cannon.  Not  all  of  them.  If  I'd  had  money  I 
should  have  had  leisure,  and  I  should  have  improved 
myself.  Reading,  I  mean.  Study.  Literature.  Mu- 
sic. Painting.  History  of  architecture.  All  that  sort 
of  thing.  I've  got  the  taste  for  it.  I  know  I've  got 
the  taste  for  it.  But  what  could  I  do.?  I  gave  it  up. 
You'll  never  know  how  lucky  you  are,  Mr.  Cannon.  I 
^ave  it  up.  However  —  I've  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
V)f.     At  any  rate  I  hope  not." 

George  nodded  appreciatively.  He  was  touched. 
He  was  even  impressed.  He  admitted  the  naivete  of 
the  ageing  man,  his  vanity,  his  sentimentality.  But  he 
Baw  himself  to  be  in  the  presence  of  an  achievement. 
And  though  the  crown  of  Mr.  Haim's  achievement  was 
to  marry  a  charwoman,  still  the  achievement  impressed. 
And  the  shabby  man  with  the  lined,  common  face  was 
looking  back  at  the  whole  of  his  life, —  there  was  some- 


THE  CHARWOMAN  71 

thing  positively  formidable  in  that  alone.  He  was  at 
the  end;  George  was  at  the  beginning,  and  George  felt 
callow  and  deferential.  The  sensation  of  callowness 
at  once  heightened  his  resolve  to  succeed.  All  George's 
sensations  seemed  mysteriously  to  transfonn  themselves 
into  food  for  tliis  great  resolve. 

"And  what  does  Miss  Haim  say  to  all  this?"  he 
asked,  rather  timidly  and  wildly.  It  was  a  venture- 
some remark ;  it  might  well  have  been  called  an  imperti- 
nence; but  the  image  of  Marguerite  was  involved  in 
the  workings  of  his  mind,  and  it  would  not  be  denied 
expression. 

Mr.  Haim  lifted  his  back  from  the  mantelpiece, 
sharply.     Then  he  hesitated,  moving  forward  a  little. 

"  Mr.  Cannon,"  he  said.  "  It's  curious  you  should 
ask  that."  His  voice  trembled,  and  at  the  vibration 
George  was  suddenly  apprehensive.  Mr.  Haim  had 
soon  recovered  from  his  original  emotion,  but  now  he 
seemed  to  be  in  danger  of  losing  control  of  himself. 

George  nervously  cleared  his  throat  and  apologised : 

"  I  didn't  mean " 

"  I'd  better  tell  you,"  Mr.  Haim  interrupted  him, 
rather  loudly.  "  We've  just  had  a  terrible  scene  with 
my  daughter,  a  terrible  scene !  "  He  seldom  referred 
to  Marguerite  by  her  Christian  name.  "  Mr.  Cannon, 
I  had  hoped  to  get  through  my  life  without  a  scandal, 
and  especially  an  open  scandal.  But  it  seems  as  if  I 
shouldn't, —  if  I  know  my  daughter !  It  was  not  my 
intention  to  say  anything.  Far  from  it.  Outsiders 
ought  not  to  be  troubled.  ...  I  —  I  like  you,  Mr.  Can- 
non. She  left  us  a  few  minutes  ago.  And  as  she  didn't 
put  her  hat  on  she  must  be  either  at  the  studio  or  at 
Agg's » 

"  She  went  out  of  the  house?  "  George  questioned 
awkwardly. 


72  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Mr.  Haim  nodded,  and  then  without  warning  he 
dropped  Hke  an  inert  lump  on  to  a  chair  and  let  liis 
head  fall  on  to  his  hand. 

George  was  frightened  as  well  as  mystified.  The 
spectacle  of  the  old  man  —  at  one  moment  boasting  in- 
genuously of  his  career,  and  at  the  next  almost  hysteri- 
cal with  woe  —  roused  his  pity  in  a  very  disconcerting 
manner,  and  from  his  sight  the  Lucas  and  Enwright 
factotum  vanished  utterly,  and  was  supplanted  by  a 
tragic  human  being.  But  he  had  no  idea  how  to  handle 
the  unexampled  situation  with  dignity ;  he  realised  pain- 
fully his  own  lack  of  experience,  and  his  overmastering 
impulse  was  to  get  away  while  it  was  still  possible  to 
get  away.  Moreover,  he  desired  intensely  to  see  and 
hear  Marguerite. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  find  out  where  she  is,"  he  ab- 
surdly suggested,  and  slipped  from  the  room  feeling 
like  a  criminal  reprieved. 

The  old  man  did  not  stir. 


"  Can  I  come  in .'' "  said  George,  hatless,  pushing 
open  the  door  of  the  studio,  which  was  ajar. 

There  were  people  in  the  bright  and  rather  chilly 
studio,  and  none  of  them  moved  until  the  figure  arriving 
out  of  the  darkness  was  identified.  Mr.  Prince,  who  in 
the  far  corner  was  apparently  cleaning  or  adjusting 
his  press,  then  came  forward  with  a  quiet,  shy,  urbane 
welcome.  Marguerite  herself  stood  nearly  under  the 
central  lamp,  talking  to  Agg,  who  was  seated.  The 
somewhat  celebrated  Agg  immediately  rose  and  said  in 
her  rather  deep  voice  to  Marguerite; 

"  I  must  go." 

Agg  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Agg  family,  a 
broad-minded  and  turbulent  tribe  who  acknowledged  the 


THE  CHARWOMAN  7S 

nominal  headsliip  of  a  hard-working  and  successful  bar- 
rister. She  was  a  painter,  and  lived  and  slept  in  semi- 
independence  in  a  studio  of  her  own  in  Manresa  Road, 
but  maintained  close  and  constant  relations  with  the 
rest  of  the  tribe.  In  shape  and  proportions  fairly  tall 
and  fairly  thin,  she  counted  in  shops  among  the  stock- 
sizes  ;  but  otherwise  she  was  entitled  to  call  herself 
unusilal.  She  kept  her  hair  about  as  short  as  the  hair 
of  a  boy  who  has  postponed  going  to  the  barber's  for 
a  month  after  the  proper  time,  and  she  incompletely 
covered  the  hair  with  the  smallest  possible  hat.  Her 
coat  was  long  and  straight  and  her  skirt  short.  Her 
boots  were  high,  reaching  well  up  the  calf,  but  they  had 
high  heels  and  were  laced  in  some  hundreds  of  holes. 
She  carried  a  cane  in  a  neatly  gloved  hand.  She  was 
twenty  seven.  In  style  Marguerite  and  Agg  made  a 
great  contrast  with  one  another.  Each  was  fully  aware 
of  the  contrast,  and  liked  it. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Cannon,"  said  Agg  firmly,  not 
shaking  hands. 

George  had  met  her  once  in  the  way  of  small-talk  at» 
her  father's  house.  Having  yet  to  learn  the  important 
truth  that  it  takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world,  he  did  not 
like  her  and  wondered  why  she  existed.  He  could  un- 
derstand Agg  being  fond  of  Marguerite,  but  he  could 
not  understand  Marguerite  being  fond  of  Agg;  and  the 
friendship  between  these  two,  now  that  he  actually  for 
the  first  time  saw  it  in  being,  irked  him. 

"Is  anything  the  matter?  .  .  .  Have  you  seen 
father?  "  asked  Marguerite  in  a  serious  calm  tone,  turn- 
ing to  him.  Like  George  she  had  run  into  the  studio 
without  putting  on  any  street  attire. 

George  perceived  that  there  was  no  secret  in  the 
studio  as  to  the  crisis  in  the  Haim  family.  Clearly  the 
topic  had  been  under  discussion.     Prince  as  well  as  Agg 


74.  THE  ROLL-CALL 

was  privy  to  it.  He  did  not  quite  like  that.  He  was 
vaguely  jealous  of  both  Prince  and  Agg.  Indeed  he 
was  startled  to  find  that  Marguerite  could  confide  such 
a  matter  to  Prince, —  at  any  rate  without  consulting 
himself.  While  not  definitely  formulating  the  claim  in 
his  own  mind,  he  had  somehow  expected  of  Marguerite 
that  until  she  met  him  she  would  have  existed  absolutely 
sole,  without  any  sentimental  connections  of  any  sort,  in 
abeyance,  waiting  for  his  miraculous  advent.  He  was 
glad  that  Mr.  Buckingham  Smith  was  not  of  the  con- 
clave ;  he  felt  that  he  could  not  have  tolerated  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham Smith. 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  him,"  George  answered. 

"  Did  he  tell  you.?  " 

"  Yes." 

Mr.  Prince,  after  a  little  hovering,  retired  to  his 
press,  and  a  wheel  was  heard  to  creak. 

"What  did  he  tell  you?" 

"  He  told  me  about  —  the  marriage.  .  .  .  And  I 
gathered  there'd  been  a  bit  of  a  scene." 

"  Nothing  else.''  " 

"  No." 

Agg  then  interjected,  fixing  her  blue  eyes  on  George: 

"  Marguerite  is  coming  to  live  with  me  in  my  studio." 

"  Oh !  "  George  could  not  suppress  his  pained  in- 
quietude at  this  decision  having  been  made  without  his 
knowledge.     Both  girls  misapprehended  his  feeling. 

"That's  it,  is  it?" 

"Well,"  said  Agg.  "What  can  Mr.  Haim  expect? 
Here  Marguerite's  been  paying  this  woman  two  shill- 
ings a  day  and  her  food,  and  letting  her  take  a  parcel 
home  at  nights.  And  then  all  of  a  sudden  she  comes 
dressed  up  for  tea  and  sits  down,  and  Mr.  Haim  says 
she's  his  future  wife.     What  does  he  expect?     Does  he 


THE  CHARWOMAN  75 

expect  Marguerite  to  kiss  her  and  call  her  mamma? 
The  situation's  impossible." 

"  But  you  can't  stop  people  from  falling  in  love, 
Agg,  you  know.  It's  not  a  crime,"  said  Mr.  Prince  in 
his  weak  voice  surprisingly  from  the  press. 

"  I  know  it's  not  a  crime,"  said  Agg  sharply.  "  And 
nobody  wants  to  stop  people  from  falling  in  love.  If 
Mr.  Haim  chooses  to  go  mad  about  a  charwoman,  when 
his  wife,  and  such  a  wife,  's  been  dead  barely  three  years, 
that's  his  concern.  It's  true  the  lady  isn't  much  more 
than  half  his  age,  and  that  the  whole  business  would  be 
screamingly  funny  if  it  wasn't  disgusting;  but  still  he's 
a  free  agent.  And  Marguerite's  a  free  agent  too,  I 
hope.  Of  course  he's  thunderstruck  to  discover  that 
Marguerite  is  a  free  agent.     He  would  be !  " 

"  He  certainly  is  in  a  state,"  said  George,  with  an 
uneasy  short  laugh. 

Agg  continued: 

"And  why  is  he  in  a  state.'*  Because  Marguerite 
says  she  shall  leave  the  house?  Not  a  bit.  Only  be- 
cause of  what  he  thinks  is  the  scandal  of  her  leaving. 
Mr.  Haim  is  a  respectable  man.  He's  simply  all  re- 
spectability. Respectability's  his  god, —  Father,  Son, 
and  Holy  Ghost.  Always  has  been.  He'd  sacrifice 
everything  to  respectability, —  except  the  lovely  I^ob- 
ley.  It's  not  respectable  in  a  respectable  family  for  a 
girl  to  leave  home  on  account  of  her  stepmother.  And 
so  he's  in  a  state,  if  you  please !  ...  If  he  wanted  to 
carry  on  with  Mrs.  Lobley,  let  him  carry  on  with  her. 
But  no !  That's  not  respectable.  He's  just  got  to 
marry  her !  "     Agg  sneered. 

George  was  startled,  perhaps  excusably,  at  the  mon- 
strous doctrine  implied  in  Agg's  remarks.  He  had 
thought  himself  a  man  of  the  world,  experienced,  un- 


76  THE  ROLL-CALL 

shockable.  But  he  blenched,  and  all  his  presence  of 
mind  was  needed  to  preserve  a  casual,  cool  demeanour. 
The  worst  of  the  trial  was  Marguerite's  tranquil  ac- 
ceptance of  the  attitude  of  her  friend.  She  glanced  at 
Agg  in  silent,  admiring  approval.  He  surmised  that 
until  that  moment  he  had  been  perfectly  ignorant  of 
what  girls  really  were. 

"  I  see,"  said  George  courageously.  And  then, 
strangely,  he  began  to  admire  too.  And  he  pulled  him- 
self together. 

"  I  think  I  shall  leave  to-morrow,"  Marguerite  an- 
nounced. "  Morning.  It  will  be  much  better.  She 
can  look  after  him.  I  don't  see  that  I  owe  any 
duty.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  dear,"  Agg  corrected  her  impressively. 
"  You  owe  a  duty  to  your  mother  —  to  her  memory. 
That's  the  duty  you  owe.  I'll  come  round  for  you 
to-morrow  myself  in  a  four-wheeler  —  let  me  see,  about 
eleven." 

George  hated  the  sound  of  the  word  "  duty." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  Marguerite  murmured,  and  the 
girls  shook  hands  ;  they  did  not  kiss. 

"  By-bye,  Princey." 

"  By-bye,  Agg." 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Cannon." 

Agg  departed,  slightly  banging  the  door. 

**  I  think  I'll  go  back  home  now,"  said  Marguerite, 
in  a  sweet,  firm  tone.     "  Had  they  gone  out.''  " 

"Who?  Your  father  and  what's-her-name?  She's 
gone,  but  he  hasn't.  If  you  don't  want  to  meet  him 
to-night  again,  hadn't  you  better " 

"  Oh !  If  she's  gone,  he'll  be  gone  too  by  this  time. 
Trust  him!" 

Mr.    Prince    approached    them,   urging   Marguerite 


THE  CHARWOMAN  77 

soothingly  to  stay  as  long  as  she  liked.     She  shook 
her  head,  and  pressed  his  hand  affectionately. 

in 

When  George  and  Marguerite  re-entered  No.  8  by  the 
front-door,  Mr.  Haim  was  still  sitting  overcome  at  the 
tea-table.  They  both  had  sight  of  him  through  the 
open  door  of  the  parlour.  Marguerite  was  obviously 
disturbed  to  see  him  there,  but  she  went  straight  into  the 
room.  George  moved  into  the  darkness  of  his  own 
room.     He  heard  the  voices  of  the  other  two. 

"  Then  you  mean  to  go.^*  "  Haim  asked  accusingly. 

Marguerite  answered  in  a  calm,  good-humoured,  sweet 
tone : 

*'  Of  course,  if  you  mean  to  marry  Mrs.  Lobley." 

"  Marry  Mrs.  Lobley !  Of  course  I  shall  marry 
her !  "  Haim's  voice  rose.  "  What  right  have  you  to 
settle  where  I  shall  marry  and  where  I  shan't  ?  " 

"  I've  fixed  everything  up  with  Celia  Agg,"  said  Mar- 
guerite very  quieth^ 

"  You've  soon  arranged  it !  " 

No  reply  from  Marguerite.  The  old  man  spoke 
again : 

"  You've  no  right.  .  .  .  It'll  be  an  open  scandal." 

Then  a  silence.  George  now  thought  impatiently 
that  a  great  fuss  was  being  made  about  a  trifle,  and 
that  a  matter  much  more  important  deserved  attention. 
His  ear  caught  a  violent  movement.  The  old  man  came 
out  of  the  parlour,  and,  instead  of  taking  his  hat  and 
rushing  off  to  find  the  enchantress,  he  walked  slowly 
and  heavily  upstairs,  preceded  by  his  immense  shadow 
thrown  from  the  hall-lamp.  He  disappeared  round  the 
corner  of  the  stairs.  George,  under  the  influence  of  the 
apparition,  was  forced  to  modify  his  view  that  all  the 


78  THE  ROLL-CALL 

fuss  was  over  a  trifle.  He  tiptoed  into  the  parlour. 
Marguerite  was  standing  at  the  table.  As  soon  as 
George  came  in  she  began  to  gather  the  tea-things 
together  on  the  tray. 

"  I  say!  "  whispered  George. 

Marguerite's  bent  tranquil  face  had  a  pleasant  look 
as  she  handled  the  crockery. 

"  I  shall  get  him  a  nice  breakfast  to-morrow,"  she 
said,  also  in  a  whisper.  "  And  as  soon  as  he's  gone  to 
the  office  I  shall  pack.     It  won't  take  me  long,  really." 

"  But  won't  Mrs.  Lobley  be  here?  " 

"  What  if  she  is?  I've  nothing  against  Mrs.  Lobley, 
Nor  as  far  as  that  goes  against  poor  father  either  — ^ 
you  see  what  I  mean." 

*'  He  told  me  you'd  had  a  terrible  scene.  That's 
what  he  said  —  a  terrible  scene." 

"  It  depends  what  you  call  a  scene,"  she  said  smoothly. 
"I  was  rather  upset  just  at  first  —  who  wouldn't  be? 
—  but  .  .  ."  She  stopped,  listening,  with  a  glance  at 
the  ceiling.  There  was  not  the  slightest  sound  over- 
head.    "  I  wonder  what  he's  doing?  " 

She  picked  up  the  tray. 

"  I'll  carry  that,"  said  George. 

"  No !  It's  all  right.  I'm  used  to  it.  You  might 
bring  me  the  table-cloth.  But  you  won't  drop  the 
crumbs  out  of  it,  will  3'ou?  " 

He  followed  her  with  the  bunched-up  table-cloth 
down  the  dangerous  basement  steps  into  the  kitchen. 
She  passed  straight  into  the  little  scullery,  where  the 
tray  with  its  contents  was  habitually  left  for  the  atten- 
tion of  Mrs.  Lobley  the  next  morning.  When  she 
turned  again,  he  halted  her  as  it  were  at  the  entrance 
from  the  scullery  with  a  question. 

"Shall  you  be  all  right?" 

"  With  Agg?  " 


THE  CHARWOMAN  79 

"  Yes." 

"  How  do  you  mean  — '  all  right '  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  money  and  so  on." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  She  spoke  lightly  and  surely,  with  a 
faint  confident  smile. 

"  I  was  thinking  as  they'd  cut  down  your  prices " 

"  I  shall  have  heaps.  Agg  and  I  —  why,  we  can  live 
splendidly  for  next  to  nothing.     You'll  see." 

He  was  rebuffed.  He  felt  jealous ;  of  both  Agg  and 
Prince,  but  especially  of  Prince.  It  still  seemed  out- 
rageous to  him  that  Prince  should  have  been  taken  into 
her  confidence.  Prince  had  known  of  the  affair  before 
himself.  He  was  more  than  jealous ;  he  had  a  greater 
grievance.  jMarguerite  appeared  to  have  forgotten  all 
about  love,  all  about  the  mighty  event  of  their  betrothal. 
She  appeared  to  have  put  it  away,  as  casually  as  she 
had  put  away  the  tray.  Yet  ought  not  the  event  to 
count  supreme  over  everything  else, —  over  no  matter 
what.''     He  was  desolate  and  unhappy. 

"  Did  you  tell  Agg?  "  he  asked. 

"What  about.?" 

"  Our  being  engaged  —  and  so  on." 

She  started  towards  him. 

"  Dearest !  "  she  protested, —  not  in  the  least  irri- 
tated or  querulous,  but  kindly,  affectionately.  "  With- 
out asking  you  first !  Didn't  we  agree  we  wouldn't  say 
anything  to  anybody  ?  But  we  shall  have  to  think  about 
telling  Agg." 

He  met  her  and  suddenly  seized  her.  They  kissed, 
and  she  shut  her  eyes.     He  was  ecstatically  happ}'. 

"  Oh!  "  she  murmured  in  his  embrace.  "  I'm  so  glad 
I've  got  you." 

And  she  opened  her  eyes  and  tears  fell  from  them. 
She  cried  quietly,  without  excitement  and  without  shame. 
She  cried  with  absolute  naturalness.     Her  tears  filled 


80  THE  ROLL-CALL 

him  with  profound  delight.  And  in  the  exquisite  sub- 
terranean intimacy  of  the  kitchen,  he  saw  with  his  eyes 
and  felt  with  his  arms  how  beautiful  she  was.  Her 
face,  seen  close,  was  incredibl}"  soft  and  touching.  Her 
nose  was  the  most  wonderful  nose  ever  witnessed.  He 
gloated  upon  her  perfection.  For,  literall}',  to  him,  she 
was  perfect.  With  what  dignity-  and  with  what  a  sense 
of  justice  she  had  behaved,  in  the  studio,  in  the  par- 
lour, and  here!  He  was  gloriously  reassured  as  he 
realised  how  in  their  joint  future  he  would  be  able  to 
rely  upon  her  fairness,  her  conscientiousness,  her  mere 
pleasantness  which  nothing  could  disturb.  Through- 
out the  ordeal  of  the  evening  she  had  not  once  been 
ruffled.  She  had  not  said  an  unkind  word,  nor  given  an 
unkind  gesture,  nor  exhibited  the  least  trace  of  resent- 
ment. Then,  she  had  taste,  and  she  was  talented.  But 
perhaps  the  greatest  quality  of  all  was  her  adorable 
beauty  and  charm.  And  yet  no !  The  final  attraction 
was  that  she  trusted  him,  depended  on  him,  cried  in  his 
embrace.  .  .  .  He  loosed  her  with  reluctance,  and  she 
deliciously  wiped  her  eyes  on  his  handkerchief,  and  he 
took  her  a^jain. 

"  I  suppose  7  must  leave  here  too,  now,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  George !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  mustn't ! 
Whv  should  vou?     I  don't  want  you  to." 

"Don't  you?     Whv?" 

"Oh!  i  don't!  Truly.  You'll  be  just  as  well 
looked  after  as  if  I  was  here.     I  do  hope  you'll  stay." 

That  settled  it.      And  Manrcsa  Road  was  not  far  off. 

She  sat  on  the  table  and  leaned  against  him,  a  long 
time.  Then  she  said  she  must  go  upstairs  to  her  room, 
—  she  had  so  much  to  do.  He  could  not  forbid,  be- 
cause she  was  irresistible.  She  extinguished  the  kitchen- 
lamp,  and  side  by  side  they  groped  up  the  stairs  to  the 


THE  CHARWOMAN  81 

first-floor.  The  cat  nonchalantly  passed  them  in  the 
hall. 

"  Put  the  lights  out  here,  will  you,  when  you  go  to 
bed?  "  she  whispered.     He  felt  flattered. 

She  offered  her  face.  .  .  .  The  lovely  thing  slipped 
away  upstairs  with  unimaginable,  ravishing  grace.  She 
vanished.  There  was  silence.  After  a  moment  George 
could  hear  the  clock  ticking  in  the  kitchen  below.  He 
stood  motionless,  amid  the  dizzying  memories  of  her 
glance,  hev  gestures,  the  softness  of  her  body.  What 
had  happened  to  him  was  past  belief.  He  completely 
forgot  the  existence  of  the  old  man  in  love. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    LUNCHEON 
Z 

George,  having  had  breakfast  in  bed,  opened  his 
door  for  the  second  time  that  morning,  and  duly  found 
on  the  mat  the  can  of  hot-water  (covered  with  a  bit  of 
old  blanket)  and  the  can  of  cold  water  which  comprised 
the  material  for  his  bath.  There  was  no  sound  in  the 
house.  The  new  spouse  might  be  upstairs  or  she  might 
be  downstairs, —  he  could  not  tell ;  but  the  cans  proved 
that  she  was  immanent  and  regardful ;  indeed  she  never 
forgot  anything.  And  George's  second  state  at  No.  8 
was  physically  even  better  than  his  first.  In  the  transi- 
tion through  autumn  from  summer  to  winter,  a  transi- 
tion which  according  to  the  experience  of  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  London  lodgers  is  capable  of  turning  compara- 
tive comfort  into  absolute  discomfort,  ]\Irs.  Haim  had 
behaved  with  benevolence  and  ingenuity.  For  example, 
the  bedroom  fire,  laid  overnight,  was  now  burning  up 
well  from  the  mere  touch  of  the  lodger's  own  match. 
Such  things  are  apt  to  count,  and  they  counted  with 
George. 

As  for  Mr.  Haim,  George  knew  that  he  was  still  in 

bed,  because  since  his  marriage  Mr.  Haim  had  made  a 

practice  of  staying  in  bed  on  Sunday  mornings.     The 

scheme  was  his  wife's ;  she  regarded  it  as  his  duty  to 

himself  to  exercise  this  grand  male  privilege  of  staying 

in  bed;  to  do  so  gave  him  majestj^  magnificence,  and 

was   a    sign    of   authority.      A    copy    of    The   Referee, 

82 


THE  LUNCHEON  83 

fresh  as  fruit  new-dropped  from  the  bough,  lay  in  the 
hall  at  the  front-door.  Mr.  Plaim  had  read  Jlie 
Referee  since  The  Referee  was.  He  began  his  peru- 
sal with  tlie  feature  known  as  "  Mustard  and  Cress," 
which  not  only  amused  him  greatly,  but  convinced 
him  that  his  own  ideas  on  affairs  were  really  very 
sagacious.  His  chief  and  most  serious  admiration, 
however,  was  kept  for  "  Our  Hand-Book."  "  It's  my 
Bible,"  he  had  once  remarked.  "  And  I'm  not  ashamed 
to  say  it.  And  there  are  scores  and  scores  of  men 
who'd  say  the  same."  Church  bells  could  not  be  heard 
at  No.  8.  The  Referee  lying  in  the  hall  was  the 
gracious  sign  of  Sabbath  morning.  Presently  Mrs. 
Haim  would  carry  it  upstairs,  respectfully.  For  her 
it  was  simply  and  unanalysably  The  Referee.  She 
did  not  dream  of  looking  into  it.  Mr.  Haim  did  not 
expect  her  to  look  into  it.  Her  mission  was  to  solace 
and  to  charm,  his  alone  to  supply  the  intellectual  basis 
upon  which  their  existence  reposed.  George's  nose 
caught  the  ascending  beautiful  odour  of  bacon ;  he 
picked  up  his  cans  and  disappeared. 

When  he  was  dressed,  he  brought  forward  the  grind- 
stone to  the  fire,  and  conscientiously  put  his  nose  to  it, 
without  even  lighting  a  cigarette.  It  had  been  agreed 
between  himself  and  Marguerite  that  there  should  be 
no  more  cigarettes  until  after  lunch.  It  had  also  been 
agreed  that  he  should  put  his  nose  to  the  grindstone 
that  Sunday  morning,  and  that  she  should  do  the  same 
away  in  Manresa  Road.  George's  grindstone  hap- 
pened to  be  Miers  and  Crosskey's  "  The  Soil  in  Relation 
to  Health."  He  was  preparing  for  his  Final  Examina- 
tion. In  addition  to  the  vast  imperial  subject  of  De- 
sign, the  Final  comprised  four  other  subjects, —  Con- 
struction, Hygiene,  Properties  and  Uses  of  Building 
Materials,    and    Ordinary    Practice    of    Architecture. 


84.  THE  ROLL-CALL 

George  was  now  busy  with  one  branch  of  the  second  of 
these  subjects.  Perhaps  he  was  not  following  pre- 
cisely' the  order  of  tactics  prescribed  by  the  most  wily 
tacticians,  for  as  usual  he  had  his  own  ideas  and  they 
were  arbitrary ;  but  he  was  veritably  and  visibly  en- 
gaged in  the  slow,  exciting  process  of  becoming  a 
great  architect.  And  he  knew  and  felt  that  he  was. 
And  the  disordered  bed,  and  the  untransparent  bath- 
water, and  the  soap-tin  by  the  side  of  the  bath,  and  the 
breakfast  traj'  on  a  chair,  were  as  much  a  part  of  the 
inspiring  spectacle  as  himself  tense  and  especially  dan- 
diacal in  the  midst. 

Nevertheless  appearances  deceived.  On  a  table  were 
the  thirteen  folio  and  quarto  glorious  illustrated  vol- 
umes of  Ongania's  "  Basilica  di  San  Marco,"  which  Mr. 
Enwright  had  obtained  for  him  on  loan,  and  which  had 
come  down  to  No.  8  in  a  big  box  by  Carter  Paterson 
van.  And  while  George  sat  quite  still  with  his  eyes  and 
'  his  volition  centred  fiercely  on  Miers  and  Crosskey,  his 
brain  would  keep  making  excursions  across  the  room  to 
the  Church  of  St.  Mark  at  Venice.  He  brought  it  back 
again  and  again  with  a  jerk,  but  he  could  not  retain  it  in 
place.  The  minutes  passed;  the  quarters  passed,  until 
an  hour  and  a  half  had  gone.  Then  he  closed  Miers 
and  Crosskey.  He  had  sworn  to  study  Miers  and  Cross- 
key  for  an  hour  and  a  half.  He  had  fought  hard  to  do 
so,  and  nobody  could  say  that  he  had  not  done  so.  He 
was  aware,  however,  that  the  fight  had  not  been  wholly 
successful ;  he  had  not  won  it ;  on  the  other  hand  neither 
had  he  lost  it.  Honour  was  saved,  and  he  could  still 
sincerely  assert  that  in  regard  to  the  Final  Examination 
he  had  got  time  fiercely  by  the  forelock.  He  rose  and 
strolled  over  to  the  "  Basilica  di  San  Marco,"  and 
opened  one  or  two  of  those  formidable  and  enchanting 
volumes.     Then  he  produced  a  cigarette,  and  struck  a 


THE  LUNCHEON  85 

match,  and  he  was  about  to  liglit  the  cigarette  when 
squinting  down  at  it  he  suddenly  wondered :  "  Now 
how  the  deuce  did  that  cigarette  come  into  my  mouth?  " 
He  replaced  the  cigarette  in  his  case,  and  in  a  moment 
he  had  left  the  house. 

He  was  invited  to  Mrs.  John  Orgreave's  new  abode  at 
Bedford  Park  for  lunch.  In  the  early  part  of  the  year 
Mrs.  John  had  inherited  money  —  again,  and  the  result 
had  been  an  increase  in  the  spaciousness  of  her  existence. 
George  had  not  expected  to  see  the  new  house,  for  he 
had  determined  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  Mrs. 
John.  He  was,  it  is  to  be  feared,  rather  touchy.  He 
and  Mrs.  John  had  not  openly  quarrelled,  but  in  their 
hearts  they  had  quarrelled.  George  had  for  some  time 
objected  to  her  attitude  towards  him  as  a  boarder. 
She  would  hint  that,  as  she  assuredly  had  no  need  of 
boarders,  she  was  conferring  a  favour  on  him  by  board- 
ing him.  It  was  of  course  true,  but  George  considered 
that  her  references  to  the  fact  were  offensive.  He  did 
not  understand  and  make  allowances  for  Adela.  More- 
over, he  thought  that  a  woman  who  had  been  through 
the  Divorce  Court  ought  to  be  modest  in  demeanour 
towards  people  who  had  not  been  through  the  Divorce 
Court.  Further,  Adela  resented  his  frequent  lateness 
for  meals.  And  she  had  said,  with  an  uncompromising 
glance :  "  I  hope  you'll  turn  over  a  new  leaf  when  we 
get  into  the  new  house."  And  he  had  replied,  with  an 
uncompromising  glance:  "Perhaps  /  shan't  get  into 
the  new  house."  Nothing  else.  But  that  ended  it. 
After  that  both  felt  that  mutual  detestation  had  set  in. 
John  Orgreave  was  not  implicated  in  the  discreet  rup- 
ture. Possibly  he  knew  of  it ;  possibly  he  didn't ;  he 
was  not  one  to  look  for  trouble,  and  he  accepted  the 
theory  that  it  was  part  of  George's  vital  scheme  to 
inhabit  Chelsea.     And  then  Adela,  all  fluffiness  and  win- 


86  THE  ROLL-CALL 

someness,  had  called,  in  the  previous  week,  at  Russell 
Square  and  behaved  like  a  woman  whose  sole  aim  in 
life  is  to  please  and  cosset  men  of  genius.  "  I  shall  be 
dreadful!}'  hurt  if  you  don't  come  to  one  of  my  Sunday 
lunches,  George !  "  she  had  said.  And  also :  "  We 
7niss  you,  you  know,"  and  had  put  her  head  on  one 
side. 

Marguerite  had  thoroughly  approved  his  acceptance 
of  the  invitation.  She  thought  that  he  "  ought  "  to 
accept.  He  had  promised,  as  she  had  an  urgent  de- 
sign to  finish,  not  to  arrive  at  the  studio  before  8  p.  m. 
and  he  had  received  a  note  from  her  that  morning  to 
insist  on  the  hour. 

n 

The  roads  were  covered  with  a  very  even,  very  thin 
coating  of  nmd ;  it  was  as  though  a  corps  of  highly 
skilled  house-painters  had  laid  on  the  mud,  and  just 
vanished.  The  pavements  had  a  kind  of  yellowish- 
brown  varnish.  Each  of  the  few  trees  that  could  be 
seen  —  and  there  were  a  few  —  carried  about  six  sur- 
viving leaves.  The  sky  was  of  a  blue-black  with  golden 
rents  and  gleams  that  travelled  steadily  eastwards. 
Except  the  man  with  newspapers  at  the  corner  of  Alex- 
andra Grove,  scarcely  a  sign  of  life  showed  along  the 
vistas  of  Fulham  Road;  but  the  clock  over  the  jeweller's 
was  alive  and  bearing  the  usual  false  witness.  From 
the  upper  open  galleries  of  the  Workhouse  one  or  two 
old  men  and  old  women  in  uniform  looked  down  indiffer- 
ently upon  the  free  world  which  they  had  left  for  ever. 
Then  an  omnibus  appeared  faintly,  advancing  from  the 
beautiful  grey  distance  of  the  straight  and  endless 
street.  George  crossed  the  road  on  his  way  towards 
Redcliffe  Gardens  and  Earl's  Court.  He  was  very 
smart,  indeed  smarter  than  ever,  having  produced  in 


THE  LUNCHEON  87 

himself  quite  naturally  and  easily  a  fair  imitation  of 
the  elegant  figures  which,  upon  his  visits  to  the  restau- 
rant-building in  Pircadill}',  he  had  observed  airing  them- 
selves round  about  Bond  Street.  His  hair  was  smooth 
like  polished  marble ;  his  hat  and  stick  were  at  the  right 
angle ;  his  overcoat  was  new  and  it  indicated  the  local- 
ity of  his  waist ;  the  spots  of  colour  in  his  attire  com- 
plied with  the  operative  decrees.  His  young  face  had 
in  it  nothing  that  obviously  separated  him  from  the 
average  youth  of  his  clothes.  Nobody  would  have  said 
of  him,  at  a  glance,  that  he  might  be  a  particularly 
serious  individual.  And  most  people  would  have  at 
once  classed  him  as  a  callow  pleasure-seeking  person  in 
the  act  of  seeking  pleasure. 

Nevertheless  he  was  at  that  moment  particularly  se- 
rious, and  his  seriousness  was  growing.  His  secret 
engagement  had  affected  him,  in  part  directly,  and  in 
part  by  the  intensification  of  ambitious  endeavour 
which  had  resulted  ^rom  contact  with  that  fount  of 
seriousness,  Marguerite.  Although  still  entirely  de- 
pendent —  even  to  cigarette  money  —  upon  the  benevo- 
lence of  a  couple  of  old  individuals  a  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  off,  he  reckoned  that  he  was  advancing  in  the 
world.  The  Intermediate  Examination  was  past,  and 
already  he  felt  that  he  had  come  to  grips  with  the  Final 
and  would  emerge  victorious.  He  felt  too  that  his 
general  knowledge  and  the  force  and  variety  of  his 
ideas  were  increasing.  At  times,  when  he  and  ^lar- 
guerite  talked,  he  was  convinced  that  both  of  them  had 
achieved  absolute  knowledge,  and  that  their  criticisms 
of  the  world  were  and  would  always  be  unanswerable. 
After  the  Final,  he  hoped,  his  uncle  would  buy  him  a 
share  in  the  Lucas  and  Enwright  practice.  In  due 
season,  his  engagement  would  be  revealed,  and  all  would 
be  immensely   impressed  by  his   self-restraint    and   his 


88  THE  ROLL-CALL 

good  taste,  and  the  marriage  would  occur,  and  he  would 
be  a  London  architect,  an  established  man  —  at  the 
mature  age  of,  say,  twenty  two. 

No  cloud  would  have  obscured  the  inward  radiance 
caused  by  the  lovely  image  of  Marguerite  and  by  his 
confidence  in  himself,  had  it  not  been  ^or  those  criticisms 
of  the  world.  He  had  moods  of  being  rather  gravely 
concerned  as  to  the  world,  and  as  to  London.  He  was 
recovering  from  the  first  great  attack  of  London.  He 
saw  faults  in  London.  He  was  capable  of  being  dis- 
turbed hy,  for  example,  the  ugliness  and  the  inefficiency 
of  London.  He  even  thought  that  something  ought  to 
be  done  about  it.  Upon  this  Sunday  morning,  fresh 
from  visions  of  Venice,  and  rendered  a  little  complacent 
bj"^  the  grim  execution  of  the  morning's  programme  of 
work,  he  was  positively  pained  by  the  aspect  of  Red- 
cHffe  Gardens.  The  Redcliffe  Arms  public-house, 
locked  and  dead,  which  was  the  daily  paradise  of  hun- 
dreds of  human  beings,  and  had  given  balm  and  illusion 
to  whole  generations,  seemed  simply  horrible  to  him  in 
its  Sunday  morning  coma.  The  large  and  stuffy  un- 
sightliness  of  it  could  not  be  borne.  (However,  the 
glimpse  of  a  barmaid  at  an  upper  window  interested  him 
pleasantly  for  a  moment.)  And  the  Redcliffe  Arms  was 
the  true  gate  to  the  stucco  and  areas  of  Redcliffe  Gar- 
dens. He  looked  down  into  the  areas  and  saw  therein 
the  furtive  existence  of  squalor  behind  barred  windows. 
All  the  obscene  apparatus  of  London  life  was  there. 
And  as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  drawing-room  and 
bedroom  storeys  he  found  no  relief.  His  eyes  could  dis- 
cover nothing  that  was  not  mean,  ugly,  frowsy,  and 
unimaginative.  He  pictured  the  heavy,  gloomy,  lethar- 
gic life  within.  The  slatternly  servants  pottering  about 
the  bases  of  the  sooty  buildings  sickened  and  saddened 
him.     A  solitary  Earl's  Court  omnibus  that  lumbered 


THE  LUNCHEON  89 

past  with  its  sinister,  sparse  cargo  seemed  to  be  a 
spectacle  absolutely  tragic, —  he  did  not  know  why. 
V  The  few  wayfarers  were  obviously  prim  and  smug.  No 
joy,  no  elegance  anywhere!  Only,  at  intervals,  a 
feeling  that  mysterious  and  repulsive  wealth  was  hiding 
itself  like  an  ogre  in  the  eternal  twilight  of  fastnesses 
beyond  the  stuccoed  walls  and  the  grimy  curtains.  .  .  . 
The  city  worked  six  days  in  order  to  be  precisely  this 
on  the  seventh.  Truly  it  was  very  similar  to  the  Five 
Towns,  and  in  essentials  not  a  bit  better.  A  sociologi- 
cal discovery  which  startled  him !  He  wanted  to  de- 
stroy RedclifFe  Gardens,  and  to  design  it  afresh  and  re- 
build it  under  the  inspiration  of  St.  Mark's  and  of  the 
principles  of  hygiene  as  taught  for  the  Final  Exam- 
ination. He  had  grandiose  ideas  for  a  new  design.  As 
for  Redcliffe  Square,  he  could  do  marvels  with  its  spaces. 

He  arrived  too  soon  at  Earl's  Court  station,  having 
forgotten  that  the  Underground  Railway  had  a  treaty 
with  the  Church  of  England  and  all  the  Nonconformist 
churches  not  to  run  trains  while  the  city,  represented 
by  possibly  two  per  cent  of  its  numbers,  was  at  divine 
worship.  He  walked  to  and  fro  along  the  platforms  in 
the  vast  echoing  cavern  peopled  with  wandering  lost 
souls,  and  at  last  a  train  came  in  from  the  void,  and  it 
had  the  air  of  a  miracle,  because  nobody  had  believed 
that  any  train  ever  would  come  in.  And  at  last  the 
Turnham  Green  train  came  in,  and  George  got  into  a 
smoking  compartment,  and  Mr.  Enwright  was  in  the 
compartment. 

Mr.  Enwright  also  was  going  to  the  Orgreave  lunch- 
eon. He  was  in  what  the  office  called  "  one  of  his 
moods."  The  other  occupants  of  the  compartment 
had  a  stiff  and  self-conscious  air:  some  apparently  were 
proud  of  being  abroad  on  Sunday  morning;  some  ap- 
parentlv   were    ashamed.     Mr.    Enwright's    demeanour 


90  THE  ROLL-CALL 

was  as  free  and  natural  as  that  of  a  child.  His  lined 
and  drawn  face  showed  worry  and  self-absorption  in 
the  frankest  manner.  He  began  at  once  to  explain  how 
badly  he  had  slept ;  indeed  he  asserted  that  he  had  not 
slept  at  all ;  and  he  complained  with  extreme  acerbity 
of  the  renewal  of  his  catarrh.  "  Constant  secretion. 
Constant  secretion,"  was  the  phrase  he  used  to  describe 
the  chief  symptom.  Then  by  a  forced  transition  he 
turned  to  the  profession  of  architecture,  and  re-stated 
his  celebrated  theory  that  it  was  the  Cinderella  of 
professions.  The  firm  had  quite  recently  obtained  a 
very  important  job  in  a  manufacturing  quarter  of 
London,  without  having  to  compete  for  it ;  but  Mr.  En- 
wright's  great  leading  ideas  never  fluctuated  with  the 
fluctuation  of  facts.  If  the  multiplicity  of  his  lucra- 
tive jobs  had  been  such  as  to  compel  him  to  run  round 
from  one  to  another  on  a  piebald  pony  in  the  style  of 
Sir  Hugh  Corver,  his  view  of  the  profession  would  not 
have  altered.  He  spoke  with  terrible  sarcasm  apropos 
of  a  rumour  current  in  architectural  circles  that  a 
provincial  city  intended  soon  to  invite  competitive  de- 
signs for  a  building  of  really  enormous  proportions, 
and  took  oath  that  in  no  case  should  his  firm  enter  for 
the  competition.  In  short,  his  condition  was  markedly 
pessimistic. 

George  loved  him,  and  was  bound  to  humour  him  ;  and 
in  order  to  respond  sympathetica!!}^  to  Enwright's 
pessimism  he  attempted  to  describe  his  sensations  con- 
cerning the  London  Sunday,  and  in  particular  the 
Sunday  morning  aspect  of  Earl's  Court  streets.  He 
animadverted  with  virulence,  and  brought  forward  his 
new  startling  discovery  that  London  was  in  truth  as 
provincial  as  the  provinces. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  it  is,"  said  Enwright,  instantly 
becoming  a  judicial  truth-seeker. 


THE  LUNCHEON  91 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"  Simply  because  it's  bigger, —  so  much  bigger. 
That's  the  principal  difference,  and  you'll  never  get 
over  it.  You  must  appreciate  size.  An  elephant  is 
a  noble  animal,  but  it  wouldn't  be  if  it  was  only  as 
big  as  a  fly.  London's  an  elephant,  and  forget  it 
not." 

"  It's  frightfully  ugly,  most  of  it,  anyhow,  and  espe- 
cially on  Sunday  morning,"  George  persisted. 

"Is  it?  I  wonder  whether  it  is,  now.  The  archi- 
tecture's ugly.  But  what's  architecture?  Architec- 
ture isn't  everything.  If  you  can  go  up  and  down 
London  and  see  nothing  but  architecture,  you'll  never 
be  an  A.l  architect."  He  spoke  in  a  low,  kindlj^,  and 
reasonable  tone.  "  I  like  London  on  Sunday  mornings. 
In  fact  it's  marvellous.  You  say  it's  untidy  and  all 
that  .  .  .  Slatternly,  and  so  on.  Well,  so  it  ought 
to  be  when  it  gets  up  late.  Jolly  bad  sign  if  it  wasn't. 
And  that's  part  of  it !  Why,  dash  it,  look  at  a  bed- 
room when  you  trail  about  getting  up !  Look  how  you 
leave  it!  The  existence  of  a  big  city  while  it's  waking 
up  —  lethargy  business  —  a  sort  of  shamelessness  — 
it's  like  a  great  animal!  I  think  it's  marvellous,  and 
I  always  have  thought  so." 

George  would  not  openly  agree,  but  his  mind  was 
illuminated  with  a  new  light,  and  in  his  mind  he  agreed, 
very  admiringly. 

The  train  stopped ;  people  got  out ;  and  the  two  were 
alone  in  the  compartment. 

"  I  thought  all  was  over  between  you  and  Adela," 
said  Mr.  Enwright,  confidentially  and  quizzically. 

George  blushed  a  little.     "  Oh,  no  I  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  her  lunch  for,  I'm 
sure.     I  suppose  I  have  to  go." 


I  have,  too,"  said  George. 


92  THE  ROLL-CALL 


(( 


Well,  she  won't  do  you  any  good,  you  know.  I 
was  glad  when  you  left  there." 

George  looked  worldly.     "  Rum  sort,  isn't  she?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  she  is,  now.  You  remember 
'  Aida  '  at  the  Paris  Opera.  The  procession  in  the  sec- 
ond act  where  you  lost  your  head  and  said  it  was  the 
finest  music  ever  written.  And  those  girls  in  white, 
waving  palms  in  front  of  the  hero  —  what's-his-name. 
There  are  some  women  who  are  born  to  do  that  and 
nothing  else.  Thin  lips.  Fixed  idiotic  smile.  They 
don't  think  a  bit  about  what  they're  doing.  They're 
thinking  about  themselves  all  the  time.  They  simply 
don't  care  a  damn  about  the  hero,  or  about  the  audience 
or  anything,  and  they  scarcely  pretend  to.  Arrogance 
isn't  the  word.  It's  something  more  terrific  —  it's  stu- 
pendous !  .  .  .  Mrs.  John's  like  that.  I  thought  of  it 
as  I  was  coming  along  here." 

"Is  she?"  said  George  negligently.  "Perhaps  she 
is.     I  never  thought  of  her  like  that." 

Turnham  Green  Station  was  announced. 

in 

Despite  the  fresh  pinky  horrors  of  its  external 
architecture,  and  despite  his  own  desire  and  firm  inten- 
tion to  the  contrary,  George  was  very  deeply  impressed 
bv  the  new  Orgreave  home.  It  was  far  larger  than  the 
previous  house.  The  entrance  was  spacious,  and  the 
drawing-room,  with  a  great  fire  at  either  end,  immense. 
He  had  never  been  in  an  interior  so  splendid.  He  tried 
to  be  offliand  in  his  attitude  towards  it,  but  did  not  fully 
succeed.  The  taste  shown  in  the  decoration  and  fur- 
niture was  almost  unexceptionable.  White  walls  ;  Hep- 
pclwhite;  chintz  —  black,  crackling  chintz  strewn  with 
tens  of  thousands  of  giant  roses.  On  the  walls  were  a 
few  lithographs, —  John's  contribution  to  the  general 


THE  LUNCHEON  98 

effect,  John  having  of  late  years  begun  to  take  himself 
seriously  as  a  collector  of  lithographs. 

One  third  of  the  room  was  divided  from  the  rest  by  an 
arched  and  fretted  screen  of  red  lacquer,  and  within 
this  open  cage  stood  Mrs.  John,  surveying  winsomely 
the  expanse  of  little  tables,  little  chairs,  big  chairs,  huge 
chairs,  sofas,  rugs,  flower-vases,  and  knickknacks. 
She  had  an  advantage  over  most  blondes  nearing  the 
forties  in  that  she  had  not  stoutened.  She  was  in  fact 
thin  as  well  as  short ;  but  her  face  was  too  thin.  Still, 
it  dimpled,  and  she  held  her  head  knowingly  on  one  side, 
and  her  bright  hair  was  wonderfully  done  up.  Dressed 
richly  as  she  was,  and  assisted  by  the  rejuvenating 
magic  of  jewels,  she  produced,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
screen,  a  notable  effect  of  youthful  vivacity,  which  only 
the  insult  of  close  inspection  could  destroy.  With 
sinuous  gestures  she  waved  Mr.  Enwright's  metaphorical 
palm  before  the  approaching  George.  Her  smile  flat- 
tered him ;  her  frail,  clinging  hand  flattered  him.  He 
had  known  her  in  her  harsh  morning  moods ;  he  had  seen 
that  persuasive  manufactured  mask  vanish  for  whole 
minutes,  to  reveal  a  petty  egotism,  giving  way  regardless 
of  appearances  to  rage ;  he  clearly  observed  now  the 
hard,  preoccupied  eyes.  Nevertheless,  the  charm  which 
she  exercised  was  undeniable.  Her  husband  was  perma- 
nently under  its  spell. 

There  he  stood,  near  her,  big,  coarsening,  good- 
natured,  content,  proud  of  her.  He  mixed  a  cocktail 
and  he  threw  a  match  into  the  fire,  in  exactly  the  old 
Five  Towns  manner,  which  he  would  never  lose.  But 
as  for  her,  she  had  thrown  off  all  trace  of  the  Five 
Towns ;  she  had  learnt  London,  deliberately,  thoroughly. 
And  even  George,  with  the  unmerciful,  ruthless  judg- 
ment of  his  years,  was  obliged  to  admit  that  she  pos- 
sessed a  genuine  pertinacity  and  had  marvellously  ac- 


94,  THE  ROLL-CALL 

complished  an  ambition.  She  had  held  John  Orgreave 
for  considerably  over  a  decade;  she  had  had  the  tre- 
mendous courage  to  leave  the  heavy  provincial  manu- 
facturer, her  first  husband ;  she  had  passed  through  the 
Divorce  Court  as  a  respondent  without  blenching;  she 
had  slowly  darned  her  reputation  with  such  skill  that 
you  could  scarcely  put  your  finger  on  the  place  where 
the  hole  had  been ;  and  lo !  she  was  reigning  in  Bedford 
Park  and  had  all  she  wanted  —  except  youth.  Nor 
did  she  in  the  least  show  the  resigned  disillusioned  air 
of  women  who  have  but  recently  lost  their  youth. 
She  bore  herself  just  as  though  she  still  had  no  fear  of 
strong  lights,  and  as  though  she  was  still  the  dazzling, 
dashing  blonde  of  whom  John  in  his  earliest  twenties 
used  to  say  with  ingenuous  enthusiasm  that  she  was 
"  ripping," —  the  ripping  Mrs.  Chris  Hamson.  An 
epical  creature! 

niis  domestic  organism  created  by  Mrs.  John  in- 
spired George,  and  instantly  he  was  rapt  away  in 
dreams  of  his  own  future.  He  said  to  himself  again, 
and  more  forcibly,  that  he  had  a  natural  taste  for  lux- 
ury and  expensivencss,  and  that  he  would  have  the  one 
and  practise  the  other.  He  invented  gorgeous  interiors 
which  would  be  his  and  in  which  he  would  be  paramount 
and  at  ease.  He  positively  yearned  for  them.  He  was 
impatient  to  get  back  home  and  resume  the  long  labours 
that  would  lead  him  to  them.  Every  grand  adjunct 
of  life  must  be  his,  and  he  could  not  wait.  Absurd  to 
apprehend  that  Marguerite  would  not  rise  to  his  dreams  ! 
Of  course  she  would !  She  would  fit  herself  perfectly 
into  them,  completing  them.  She  would  understand 
all  the  artistic  aspects  of  them,  because  she  was  an 
artist;  and  in  addition  she  would  be  mistress,  wife,  host- 
ess, command  impeccable  servants,  receiving  friends  with 
beauty  and  unsurpassable  sweet  dignity,  wearing  costly 


THE  LUNCHEON  95 

frocks  and  jewels  as  though  she  had  never  worn  any- 
thing else.  She  had  the  calm  power,  she  had  the  indi- 
viduality, to  fulfil  all  his  desires  for  her.  She  would  be 
the  authentic  queen  of  which  Mrs.  John  was  merely  the 
imitation.  He  wanted  intensely  to  talk  to  her  about 
the  future.  .  .  .  And  then  he  had  the  seductive  idea  of 
making  presentable  his  bed-sitting-room  at  Mr.  Haini's. 
He  saw  the  room  instantaneously  transformed ;  he  at 
once  invented  each  necessary  dodge  for  absolutely  hiding 
during  the  day  the  inconvenient  fact  that  it  had  to 
serve  as  a  bedroom  at  night ;  he  refurnished  it ;  he  found 
the  money  to  refurnish  it.  And  just  as  he  was  impa- 
tient to  get  back  home  in  order  to  work,  so  he  was  im- 
patient to  get  back  home  in  order  to  transform  his  cham- 
ber into  the  ideal.  Delay  irked  him  painfully.  And 
yet  he  was  extremely  happy  in  the  excitement  of  the 
dreams  that  ached  to  be  fulfilled. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Enwright,"  said  Mrs.  John  in  an  accent 
to  draw  honey  out  of  a  boulder,  "  you  haven't  told 
me  what  you  think  of  it." 

Enwright  was  wandering  about  by  himself. 

"  He's  coming  on  with  his  lithographs,"  he  replied, 
as  if  after  a  decision.  "  One  or  two  of  these  are  ra- 
ther interesting." 

"Oh!  I  don't  mean  the  lithographs.  You  know 
those  are  all  Jack's  affair.  I  mean  —  well,  the  room. 
Now  do  pay  me  a  compliment." 

The  other  guests  listened. 

Enwright  gave  a  little  self-conscious  smile,  charac- 
teristic of  him  in  these  dilemmas,  half  kind  and  half 
malicious. 

"  You  must  have  taken  a  great  deal  of  trouble  over 
it,"  he  said,  with  bright  amiability,  and  then  relapsing 
from  the  effort:     "  It's  all  very  nice  and  harmless." 
Oh!     Mr.  Enwright!     Is  that  all?"  she  pouted, 


a 


96  THE  ROLL-CALL 

though  still  waving  the  palm.  "  And  you  so  fond  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  too  !  " 

"  But  I  heard  a  rumour  at  the  beginning  of  this  year 
that  we're  living  in  the  twentieth,"  said  Eiiwright. 

"  And  I  thought  I  should  please  you !  "  sighed  Adela. 
"  What  ought  I  to  have  done?  " 

"  Well,  you  might  have  asked  me  to  design  you  some 
furniture.  Nobody  ever  has  asked  me  yet."  He 
rubbed  his  eye-glasses  and  blinked. 

"  Oh !     You  geniuses.  .  .  .  Janet,  darling !  " 

Mrs.  John  moved  forward  to  meet  Miss  Orgreave, 
John's  appreciably  elder  sister,  spinster,  who  lived  with 
another  brother,  Charles,  a  doctor  at  Ealing.  Janet 
was  a  prim,  emaciated  creature,  very  straight  and  digni- 
fied, whose  glance  always  seemed  to  hesitate  between 
benevolence  and  fastidiousness.  Janet  and  Charles  had 
consented  to  forget  the  episode  of  the  Divorce  Court. 
Marion,  however,  the  eldest  Orgreave  sister,  mother  of  a 
family  of  daughters,  had  never  received  the  divorcee. 
On  the  other  hand  the  divorcee,  obeying  her  own  code, 
had  obstinately  ignored  the  wife  of  Jim  Orgreave,  a 
younger  brother  who,  according  to  the  universal  opin- 
ion, had  married  disgracefully. 

When  the  sisters-in-law  had  embraced,  with  that  un- 
convincing fulsomeness  which  is  apt  to  result  from  a 
charitable  act  of  oblivion,  Janet  turned  lovingly  to 
George  and  asked  after  his  mother.  She  was  his 
mother's  most  intimate  friend.  In  the  past  he  had 
called  her  Auntie,  and  was  accustomed  to  kiss  her  and 
be  kissed.  Indeed  he  feared  that  she  might  want  to  kiss 
him  now,  but  he  was  spared.  As  with  negligence  of 
tone  he  answered  her  fond  enquiries,  he  was  busy  re- 
considering his  scheme  for  the  bed-sitting-room, —  for 
it  had  actually  been  an  eighteenth  century  scheme,  and 
inspired  by  the  notions  of  Mrs.  John ! 


THE  LUNCHEON  97 

At  the  lunch-table  George  found  that  the  party  con- 
sisted of  ten  persons,  of  whom  one,  seated  next  to  him- 
self, was  a  youngish,  somewhat  plump  woman  who  had 
arrived  at  the  last  moment.  Ho  had  not  been  intro- 
duced to  her,  nor  to  the  four  other  strangers,  for  it 
had  latel}'  reached  Bedford  Park  that  introductions 
were  no  longer  the  correct  prelude  to  a  meal.  A  host- 
ess who  wished  to  be  modern  should  throw  her  guests  in 
ignorance  together  and  leave  them  to  acquire  knowledge 
by  their  own  initiative.  This  device  added  to  the 
piquancy  of  a  gathering.  Moreover,  there  was  always 
a  theory  that  each  individual  was  well  known,  and  that 
therefore  to  introduce  was  subtly  to  insult.  On  Mrs. 
John's  right  was  a  beautifully  braided  gentleman  of 
forty  or  so  in  brown,  with  brown  necktie  and  hair  to 
match,  and  the  hair  was  so  perfect  and  ended  so 
abruptly  that  George  at  first  took  it  for  a  wig:  but 
soon  afterwards  he  decided  that  he  had  been  unkind. 
IMr.  Enwright  was  opposite  to  this  brown  gentle- 
man. 

Mrs.  John  began  by  hoping  that  the  brown  gentleman 
had  been  to  church. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't,"  he  replied,  with  gentle  regret 
in  his  voice. 

And  in  the  course  of  the  conversation  he  was  fre- 
quently afraid.  Nevertheless  his  attitude  was  by  no 
means  a  fearful  attitude;  on  the  contrary  it  was  very 
confident.  He  would  grasp  the  edge  of  the  table  with 
his  hands,  and  narrate  at  length,  smiHng  amiably,  and 
looking  from  side  to  side  regularly  like  a  public  speaker. 
He  narrated  in  detail  the  difficulties  which  he  had  in  ob- 
taining the  right  sort  of  cutlets  rightly  cooked  at  his 
club,  and  added:  "But  of  course  there's  only  one  club 
in  London  that  would  be  satisfactory  in  all  this  —  shall 
I  s&y?  —  finesse,  and  I'm  afraid  I  don't  belong  to  it." 


98  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  What  club's  that  ?  "  John  Orgreave  sent  the  en- 
quiry down  the  table. 

"  The  Orleans." 

*'  Oh,  yes,  the  Orleans !     I  suppose  that  is  the  best." 

And  everybody  seemed  glad  and  proud  that  every- 
body had  known  of  the  culinary  supremacy  of  the 
Orleans, 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  all  think  I'm  horribly  greedy,'* 
said  the  brown  gentleman  apologetically.  And  then 
at  once,  having  noticed  that  Mr.  Enwright  was  gazing 
up  at  the  great  sham  oak  rafters  that  were  glued  on  to 
the  white  ceiling,  he  started  upon  this  new  architectural 
picturesqueness  which  was  to  London  and  the  begin- 
ning of  the  twentieth  century  what  the  enamelled  milk- 
ing-stool  had  been  to  the  provinces  and  the  end  of  the 
nineteenth  century, —  namely,  a  reminder  that  even  in 
an  industrial  age  romance  should  still  survive  in  the 
hearts  of  men.  The  brown  gentleman  remarked  that 
with  due  deference  to  "  you  professional  gentlemen," 
he  was  afraid  he  liked  the  sham  rafters,  because  they 
reminded  him  of  the  good  old  times  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing. 

He  was  not  only  a  conscientious  conversationalist,  but 
he  originated  talk  in  others,  and  listened  to  them  with 
his  best  attention.  And  he  invariably  stepped  into 
gaps  with  praiseworthy  tact  and  skill.  Thus  the  chat 
meandered  easily  from  subject  to  subject, —  the  Auto- 
mobile Club's  tour  from  London  to  Southsea,  the  latest 
hotel,  Richtcr,  the  war  (which  the  brown  gentleman 
treated  with  tired  respect,  as  some  venerable  survival 
that  had  forgotten  to  die),  the  abnormally  early  fogs, 
and  the  abnormally  violent  and  destructive  gales.  An 
argument  arose  as  to  whether  these  startling  weather 
phenomena  were  or  were  not  a  hint  to  mankind  from 


THE  LUNXHEON  99 

some  undefined  Higher  Power  that  a  new  century  had 
in  truth  begun  and  that  mankind  had  better  mind  what 
it  was  about.  Mrs.  John  favoured  the  notion ;  and  so 
did  Miss  Orgreave,  whereas  John  Orgreave  coarsely 
laughed  at  it.  The  brown  gentleman  held  the  scales 
admirably ;  he  was  chivalrously  sympathetic  to  the  two 
ladies,  and  yet  he  respected  John's  materialism.  He 
did,  however,  venture  to  point  out  the  contradictions  in 
the  character  of  "  our  host,"  who  was  really  very  re- 
sponsive to  music  and  art,  but  who  seemed  curiously 
to  ignore  certain  other  influences, —  etc.,  etc. 

"  How  true  that  is !  "  murmured  Mrs.  John. 

The  brown  gentleman  modestly  enjoyed  his  triumph. 
With  only  three  people  had  he  failed, —  Mr.  Enwright, 
George,  and  the  youngish  woman  next  to  George. 

"And  how's  Paris,  Miss  Ingram.'^"  he  pointedly 
asked  the  last. 

George  was  surprised.  He  had  certainly  taken  her 
for  a  married  woman,  and  one  of  his  generalisations 
about  life  was  that  he  did  not  like  young  married 
women ;  hence  he  had  not  liked  her.  He  now  regarded 
her  with  fresh  interest.  She  blushed  a  little,  and  looked 
very  young  indeed. 

"  Oh !     Paris  is  all  right !  "  she  answered  shortly. 

The  brown  gentleman,  after  a  long,  musing  smile,  dis- 
creetly abandoned  the  opening;  but  George,  enquiring 
in  a  low  voice  if  she  lived  in  Paris,  began  a  private  talk 
with  Miss  Ingram,  who  did  live  in  Paris.  He  had  his 
doubts  about  her  entire  agreeableness,  but  at  any  rate 
they  got  on  to  a  natural,  brusque  footing,  which  con- 
trasted with  the  somewhat  ceremonious  manner  of  the 
general  conversation.  She  exceeded  George  in  brusque- 
ness,  and  tended  to  patronise  him  as  a  youngster.  He 
noticed  that  she  had  yellow  eyes. 


100  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  A\Tiat  do  you  think  of  his  wig?  "  she  demanded  in  an 
astonishing  whisper,  when  the  meal  was  over  and  chairs 
were  being  vacated. 

"  Is  it  a  wig?  "  George  exclaimed  ingenuously. 

"  Oh,  you  boys !  "  she  protested,  with  superiority. 
"  Of  course  it's  a  wig." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  it's  a  wig?  "  George  insisted 
stoutly. 

"  '  Is  it  a  wig ' !  "  she  scorned  him. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  up  in  wigs,"  said  George.  "  Who 
is  he,  anyhow?  " 

"  I  forget  his  name.  I've  only  met  him  once,  here  at 
tea.  I  think  he's  a  tea-merchant.  He  seemed  to  re- 
member me  all  right." 

"  A  tea-merchant !  I  wonder  why  Mrs.  John  put  him 
on  her  right,  then,  and  Mr.  Enwright  on  her  left." 
George  resented  the  precedence. 

"  Is  Mr.  Enwright  really  very  great,  then  ?  " 

''  Great !  You  bet  he  is  ...  I  was  in  Paris  with 
him  in  the  summer.  Whereabouts  do  you  live  in 
Paris?" 

She  improved,  especially  at  the  point  where  she  said 
that  Mr.  Enwright's  face  was  one  of  the  most  wonder- 
ful faces  that  she  had  ever  seen.  Evidently  she  knew 
Paris  as  well  as  George  knew  London.  Apparently  she 
had  always  lived  there.  But  their  interchanges  con- 
cerning Paris,  on  a  sofa  in  the  drawing-room,  were 
stopped  by  a  general  departure.  Mr.  Enwright  began 
it.  The  tea-merchant  instantly  supported  th^  move- 
ment. Miss  Ingram  herself  rose.  The  affair  was  at 
an  end.  Nothing  interesting  had  been  said  in  the 
general  talk,  and  little  that  was  sincere.  No  topic  had 
been  explored,  no  argument  taken  to  a  finish.  No  wit 
worth  mentioning  had  glinted.  But  evcr^'body  had 
behaved  very  well,  and  had  demonstrated  that  he  or  she 


THE  LUNCHEON  101 

was  familiar  with  the  usages  of  society  and  with  aspects 
of  existence  with  which  it  was  proper  to  be  familiar. 
And  everybody  —  even  Mr.  Enwright  —  thanked  Mrs. 
John  most  heartily  for  her  quite  delightful  luncheon ; 
Mrs.  John  insisted  warmly  on  her  own  pleasure  and  her 
appreciation  of  her  guests'  extreme  good  nature  in 
troubling  to  come;  and  she  was  beyond  question  joy- 
ously triumphant.  And  George,  relieved,  thought,  as 
he  tried  to  rival  the  rest  in  gratitude  to  Mrs.  John : 

"What  was  it  all  about?  What  did  they  all  come 
for.'*  I  came  because  she  made  me.  But  why  did  the 
others  come?  " 

The  lunch  had  passed  like  a  mild  nightmare,  and  he 
felt  as  though,  with  the  inconsequence  of  dream-people, 
these  people  had  gone  away  without  having  accom- 
plished some  essential  act  which  had  been  the  object  of 
their  gathering. 

When  George  came  out  of  the  front-door,  he  beheld 
Miss  Ingram  on  the  kerb,  in  the  act  of  getting  into  a 
very  rich  fur-coat.  A  chauffeur,  in  a  very  rich  livery, 
was  deferentially  helping  her.  Behind  them  stretched 
a  long,  open  motor-car.  This  car,  existing  as  it  did 
at  a  time  when  the  public  acutely  felt  that  automobiles 
splashed  respectable  foot-farers  with  arrogant  mud  and 
rendered  unbearable  the  lives  of  the  humble  in  village 
streets,  was  of  the  immodest  kind  described,  abusively, 
as  "  powerful  and  luxurious."  The  car  of  course  drew 
attention,  because  it  had  yet  occurred  to  but  few  of 
anybody's  friends  that  they  might  themselves  possess 
even  a  modest  car,  much  less  an  immodest  one.  George 
had  not  hitherto  personally  known  a  single  motor-car 
owner. 

But  what  struck  him  even  more  than  the  car  was  the 
fur-coat,   and   the  haughty   and   fastidious   manner  in 


102  THE  ROLL-CALL 

which  Miss  Ingram  accepted  it  from  the  chauffeur,  and 
the  disdainful,  accustomed  way  in  which  she  wore  it, —  as 
though  it  were  a  cheap  rag  —  when  once  it  was  on  her 
back.  In  her  gestures  he  glimpsed  a  new  world.  He 
had  been  secretly  scorning  the  affair  of  the  luncheon  and 
all  that  it  implied,  and  he  had  been  secretly  scorning 
himself  for  his  pitiful  lack  of  brilliancy  at  the  luncheon. 
These  two  somewhat  contradictory  sentiments  were 
suddenly  shrivelled  in  the  fire  of  his  ambition  which 
had  flared  up  anew  at  contact  with  a  spark.  And  the 
spark  was  the  sight  of  the  girl's  costly  fur-coat.  He 
must  have  a  costly  fur-coat,  and  a  girl  in  it,  and  the 
girl  must  treat  the  fur-coat  like  a  cheap  rag.  Other- 
wise he  would  die  a  disappointed  man. 

"  Hello  !  "  called  Miss  Ingram. 

"  Hello !  » 

She  had  climbed  into  the  car,  and  turned  her  head 
to  look  at  him.  He  saw  that  she  was  younger  even 
than  he  had  thought.  She  seemed  quite  mature  when 
she  was  still,  but  when  she  moved  she  had  the  lithe  mo- 
tions of  immaturity.  As  a  boy,  he  now  infallibly  rec- 
ognised a  girl. 

"  Which  way  are  you  going?  " 

"  Well  —  Chelsea  more  or  less." 

"  I'll  give  you  a  lift." 

He  ought  to  have  said:  "  Are  you  sure  I  shan't  be 
taking  you  out  of  your  way-f*  "  But  he  said  merely: 
"  Oh  !     Thanks  awfully  !  " 

The  chauffeur  held  the  door  for  him,  and  then  ar- 
ranged a  fur-rug  over  the  knees  of  the  boy  and  the  girl. 
To  be  in  the  car  gave  George  intense  pleasure,  especially 
when  the  contrivance  thrilled  into  life  and  began  to 
travel.  He  was  thankful  that  his  clothes  were  as  smart 
as  they  ought  to  be.  She  could  not  think  ill  of  his 
clothes  —  no  matter  who  her  friends  were. 


THE  LUNCHEON  103 

"  This  is  a  great  car,"  he  said.     "  Had  it  long?  " 

"  Oh !  It's  not  mine,"  answered  Miss  Ingram.  "  It's 
Miss  Wheeler's." 

"Who's  Miss  Wheeler,  if  I  may  ask.'"' 

"  Miss  Wheeler !  She's  a  friend  of  mine.  She  lives 
in  Paris.  But  she  has  a  flat  in  London  too.  I  came 
over  with  her.  We  brought  the  car  with  us.  She 
was  to  have  come  to  the  Orgreaves'  to-day,  but  she 
had  a  headache.  So  I  took  the  car, —  and  her 
furs  as  well.  They  fit  me,  you  see.  ...  I  say,  what's 
your  Christian  name.  I  hate  surnames,  don't 
you?" 

"  George.     What's  yours?  " 

"Mine's  Lois." 

"  What?     How  do  you  spell  it?  " 

She  spelt  it,  adding,  "  Of  course."  He  thought  it 
was  somehow  a  very  romantic  name.  He  decidedly  liked 
the  name.  He  was  by  no  means  sure,  however,  that  he 
liked  the  girl.  He  liked  her  appearance,  though  she 
was  freckled ;  she  was  unquestionably  stj-lish ;  she  had 
ascendency ;  she  imposed  herself ;  she  sat  as  though  the 
world  was  the  instrument  of  her  individuality.  Never- 
theless he  doubted  if  she  was  kind,  and  he  knew  that 
she  was  patronising.  Further,  she  was  not  a  conversa- 
tionalist. At  the  luncheon  she  had  not  been  at  ease; 
but  here  in  the  car  she  was  at  ease  absolutely,  yet  she 
remained  taciturn. 

"  D'you  drive?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Look  here,  would  you  like  to 
sit  in  front?     And  I'll  drive." 

"  Good !  "  he  agreed  vigorously.  But  he  had  a  qualm 
about  the  safety  of  being  driven  by  a  girl. 

She  abruptly  stopped  the  car,  and  the  chauffeur 
swerved  to  the  pavement. 

"  I'm  going  to  drive,  Cuthbert,"  she  said. 


104  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  the  chauffeur  willingly.  "  It's  a 
bit  side-slippy,  miss." 

She  gave  no  answer  to  this  remark,  but  got  out  of 
the  car  with  a  preoccupied,  frowning  air,  as  if  she  was 
being  obliged  to  take  a  responsible  post,  which  she  could 
fill  better  than  anybody  else,  rather  against  her  inclina- 
tion. A  few  persons  paused  to  watch.  She  carefully 
ignored  them ;  so  did  George. 

As  soon  as  she  had  seized  the  wheel,  released  the 
brake  and  started  the  car,  she  began  to  talk,  looking 
negligently  about  her.  George  thought :  "  She's  only 
showing  off."  Still,  the  car  travelled  beautifully,  and 
there  was  a  curious  illusion  that  she  must  have  the  credit 
for  that.  She  explained  the  function  of  handles, 
pedals,  and  switches,  and  George  deemed  it  proper  to 
indicate  that  he  was  not  without  some  elementary 
knowledge  of  the  subject.  He  leaned  far  back,  as  Lois 
leaned,  and  as  the  chauffeur  had  leaned,  enjoying  the 
brass  fittings,  the  indicators,  and  all  the  signs  of  high 
mechanical  elaboration. 

He  noticed  that  Lois  sounded  her  horn  constantly, 
and  often  upon  no  visible  provocation.  But  once,  as 
she  approached  cross-roads  at  unslackened  speed,  she 
seemed  to  forget  to  sound  it  and  then  sounded  it  too  late. 
Nothing  untoward  happened ;  Sunda}^  traffic  was  thin, 
and  she  sailed  through  the  danger  zone  with  grand 
intrepidity. 

"  I  say,  George,"  she  remarked,  looking  now  straight 
in  front  of  her.  ("  She's  a  bit  of  a  caution,"  he  re- 
flected happily.)  "  Have  you  got  anything  special  on 
this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Nothing  what  you  may  call  deadly  special,"  he  an- 
swered. He  wanted  to  call  her  "  Lois,"  but  his  volition 
failed  at  the  critical  moment. 

"  Well,  then,  won't  you  come  and  have  tea  with  Miss 


THE  LUNCHEON  105 

Wheeler  and  me?  There'll  only  be  just  a  few  people, 
and  you  must  be  introduced  to  Miss  Wheeler." 

"  Oh !     I  don't  think  I'd  better."     He  was  timid. 

"  Why  not?  "     She  pouted. 

"  All  right,  then.     Thanks.     I  should  like  to." 

"  By  the  way,  what's  your  surname?  " 

("  She  is  a  caution,"  he  reflected.) 

"  I  wasn't  quite  sure,"  she  said,  when  he  had  told  her. 

He  was  rather  taken  aback,  but  he  reassured  himself. 
No  doubt  girls  of  her  environment  did  behave  as  she 
behaved.     After  all,  why  not  ? 

They  entered  Hammersmith.  It  was  a  grand  and 
inspiring  sensation  to  swing  through  Hammersmith 
thus  aristocratically,  repudiating  the  dowdy  Sunday 
crowd  that  stared  in  ingenuous  curiosity.  And  there 
was  a  wonderful  quality  in  the  spectacle  of  the  great, 
formidable  car  being  actuated  and  controlled  by  the 
little  gloved  hands  and  delicately  shod  feet  of  this  frail, 
pampered,  wilful  girl. 

In  overtaking  a  cab  that  kept  nearly  to  the  middle 
of  the  road,  Lois  hesitated  in  direction,  appeared  to 
defy  the  rule,  and  then  corrected  her  impulse. 

"  It's  rather  confusing,"  she  observed  with  a  laugh. 
"  You  see  in  France  you  keep  to  the  right  and  overtake 
things  on  their  left." 

"  Yes.     But  this  is  London,"  said  George  drily. 

Half  a  minute  later,  just  beyond  the  node  of  Ham- 
mersmith, where  bright  hats  and  frocks  were  set  off 
against  the  dark  shuttered  fronts  of  shops,  Lois  at 
quite  a  good  speed  inserted  the  car  between  a  tramcar 
and  an  omnibus,  meeting  the  tram  and  overtaking  the 
omnibus.  The  tram  went  by  like  thunder,  all  its  glass 
and  iron  rattling  and  shaking;  the  noise  deafened,  and 
the  wind  blew  hard  like  a  squall.  There  appeared  to  be 
scarcely  an  inch  of  space  on  either  side  of  the  car. 


106  THE  ROLL-CALL 

George's  heart  stopped.  For  one  horrible  second  he 
expected  a  tremendous  smash.  The  car  emerged  safe. 
He  saw  the  omnibus-driver  gazing  down  at  them  with 
reproof.  After  the  roar  of  the  tram  died  he  heard  the 
trotting  of  the  onmibus-horses  and  Lois'  nervous  giggle. 
She  tried,  and  did  not  fail,  to  be  jaunty ;  but  she  had  had 
a  shock,  and  the  proof  was  that  by  mere  inadvertence 
she  nearly  charged  the  posts  of  the  next  street-refuge. 
George  switched  off  the  current.  She  herself  had  shown 
him  how  to  do  it.  She  now  saw  him  do  it.  The  engine 
stopped,  and  Lois,  remembering  in  a  flash  that  her 
dignity  was  at  stake,  raised  her  hand  and  drew  up 
fairly  neatly  at  the  pavement. 

"What's   the   matter?"   she  demanded   imperiously. 

"  Are  you  going  to  drive  this  thing  all  the  way  into 
London,  Lois?  "  he  demanded  in  turn. 

They  looked  at  each  other.     The  chauffeur  got  do\\Ti. 

"  Of  course." 

*'  Not  with  me  in  it,  anyhow," 

She  sneered.  "  Oh !  You  boys !  You've  got  no 
pluck." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  returned  viciously.  "  Neither 
have  you  got  any  sense  of  danger.  Girls  like  you  never 
have.  I've  noticed  that  before."  Even  his  mother 
with  horses  had  no  sense  of  danger. 

"  You're  very  rude,"  she  replied.  "  And  it  was  very 
rude  of  you  to  stop  the  car." 

"  I  daresay.  But  you  shouldn't  have  told  me  you 
could  drive." 

He  was  now  angry.  And  she  not  less  so.  He  de- 
scended, and  slammed  the  door. 

"  Thanks  so  much,"  he  said,  raised  his  hat,  and 
walked  away.  She  spoke,  but  he  did  not  catch  what 
she  said.  He  was  saying  to  himself:  "  Pkick,  indeed !  " 
(He  did  not  like  her  accusation.)      "  Pluck,  indeed !     Of 


THE  LUNCHEON  107 

all  the  damned  cheek!  .  .  .  We  might  all  have  been 
killed  —  or  worse.  The  least  she  could  have  done  was 
to  apologise.  But  no !  Pluck  indeed !  Women  ought- 
n't to  be  allowed  to  drive.  It's  too  infernally  silly  for 
words." 

He  glanced  backward.  The  chauffeur  had  started 
the  car  again,  and  was  getting  in  by  Lois'  side.  Doubt- 
less he  was  a  fatalist  by  profession.      She  drove  off. 

"  Yes  !  "  thought  George.  "  And  you'd  drive  home 
yourself  now  even  if  you  knew  for  certain  you'd  have 
an  accident.     You're  just  that  stupid  kind.'* 

The  car  looked  superb  as  it  drew  away,  and  she  re- 
clined in  the  driver's  seat  with  a  superb  effrontery. 
George  was  envious ;  he  was  pierced  by  envy.  He  hated 
that  other  people,  and  especially  girls,  should  command 
luxuries  which  he  could  not  possess.  He  hated  that 
violently.  "  You  wait ! "  he  said  to  himself.  "  You 
wait !  I'll  have  as  good  a  car  as  that,  and  a  finer  girl 
than  you  in  it.  And  she  won't  want  to  drive  either. 
You  wait."  He  was  more  excited  than  he  knew  by  the 
episode. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    TEA 
I 

"  Tea  is  ready,  Mr.  Cannon,"  said  Mr.  Haim  in  his 
most  courteous  style,  coming  softly  into  George's  room. 
And  George  looked  up  at  the  old  man's  wrinkled  face, 
and  down  at  his  crimson  slippers,  with  the  benevolent 
air  of  a  bookworm  permitting  himself  to  be  drawn  away 
from  an  ideal  world  into  the  actual.  Glasses  on  the  end 
of  George's  nose  would  have  set  oflf  the  tableau,  but 
George  had  outgrown  the  spectacles  which  had  disfig- 
ured his  boyhood.  As  a  fact,  since  his  return  that 
afternoon  from  Mrs.  John's,  he  had,  to  the  detriment 
of  modesty  and  the  fostering  of  conceit,  accomplished 
some  further  study  for  the  Final,  although  most  of  the 
time  had  been  spent  in  dreaming  of  women  and  luxury. 

"  All  right,"  said  he.     "  I'll  come." 

"  I  don't  think  that  lamp's  been  very  well  trimmed 
to-day,"  said  Mr.  Haim  apologetically,  sniffing. 

"Does  it  smell.?" 

*'  Well,  I  do  notice  a  slight  odour." 

*'  I'll  open  the  window,"  said  George  heartily.  He 
rose,  pulled  the  curtains,  and  opened  the  front  French 
window  with  a  large  gesture.  The  wild,  raw,  damp  air 
of  Sunday  night  rushed  in  from  the  nocturnal  Grove, 
and  instantly  extinguished  the  lamp. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Haim,  rather  nervously. 

"  Saved  me  the  trouble,"  said  George. 

As  he  emerged  after  Mr.  Haim  from  the  dark  room,  he 

108 


THE  TEA  109 

was  thinking  that  it  was  ridiculous  not  to  have  electric- 
ity, and  that  he  must  try  to  come  to  some  arrangement 
with  Mr.  Haim  for  the  installation  of  electricity. 
Fancy  oil  lamps  in  the  middle  of  London  in  the  twen- 
tieth century !  Shocks  were  waiting  in  George's  mind 
for  Mr.  Haim.  He  intended,  if  he  could,  to  get  the 
room  on  the  first-floor,  empty  since  the  departure  of 
Marguerite,  and  to  use  it  for  a  bedroom,  while  keeping 
the  ground-floor  room  exclusively  for  work  and  society. 
His  project  would  involve  shocks  also  for  Mr.  Edwin 
Clayhanger  in  the  Five  Towns,  who  would  be  called 
upon  to  pay ;  but  George  had  an  airy  confidence  in  the 
ability  of  his  stepfather  to  meet  such  shocks  in  a  satis- 
factory manner. 

To  George's  surprise,  Mr.  Alfred  Prince  was  in  the 

sitting-room.      Shabby  and  creased  as  usual,  he  looked 

far  more  like  a  clerk  in  some  establishment  where  clerks 

were  not  morally  compelled  to  imitate  dandies  than  like 

an  etcher  of  European  renown.     But,  also  as  usual,  he 

was  quietly  at  ease  and  conversational ;  and  George  at 

once  divined  that  Mr.  Prince  had  been  invited  with  the 

object  of  relieving  the  social  situation  created  by  the 

presence  of  the  brilliant  young  lodger  at  tea.     This  tea 

was  the  first  meal  to  be  taken  by  George  with  Mr.  and 

Mrs,  Haim,  for  he  was  almost  never  at  home  on  Sunday 

afternoons  and  he  was  not  expected  to  be  at  home.     The 

table  showed,  as  Mr.  Haim's  nervousness  had  shown, 

that  the  importance  of  the  occasion  had  been  realised. 

It  was  an  obviously  elaborate  table.     The  repast  was 

ready  in  every  detail ;  the  tea-pot  was  under  the  cosy ; 

the  cover  was  over  the  hot  crumpets ;  Mrs.  Haim  alone 

lacked. 

"  Where's  missus?  "  asked  George  lightly,      Mr.  Haim 
had  not  come  into  the  room. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Prince.     "  She  brought  the 


110  THE  ROLL-CALL 

tea  in  a  minute  ago.     You  been  working  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Haim  entered.  He  said : 
"  Mrs.  Haim  isn't  feeling  very  well.  She's  upstairs. 
She  says  she's  sure  she'll  be  all  right  in  a  little  while. 
In  the  meantime  she  prefers  us  to  go  on  with  our  tea." 
Mr.  Prince  and  Mr.  Haim  looked  at  each  other,  and 
George  looked  at  Mr.  Haim.  The  older  men  showed 
apprehension.  The  strange  idea  of  unconquerable  des- 
tiny crossed  George's  mind  —  destiny  clashing  ruth- 
lessly with  ambition  and  desire.  The  three  males  sat 
down  in  obedience  to  the  wish  of  the  woman  who  had 
hidden  herself  in  the  room  above.  All  of  them  were 
dominated  by  the  thought  of  her.  They  did  not  want 
to  sit  down  and  eat  and  drink,  and  they  were  obliged 
' )  so  by  the  invisible  volitional  force  of  which  Mr. 
Haim  was  the  unwilling  channel.  Mr.  Haim,  highly 
self-conscious,  began  to  pour  out  the  tea.  Mr.  Prince, 
now  also  highly  self-conscious,  suggested  that  he  should 
make  himself  useful  by  distributing  the  crumpets  while 
they  were  hot.  George,  highly  self-conscious,  accepted 
a  crumpet.  JNIr.  Prince  chatted ;  George  responded  in  a 
brave  worldly  fashion ;  Mr.  Haim  said  "  Yes,"  "  Ye-es," 
very  absently. 

And  then  Mrs.  Haim  appeared  smiling  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Ah  !  "  breathed  everybody,  assuaged.  "  Ah  !  " 
Mr.  Haim  moved  from  in  front  of  the  tea-tray  to  the 
next  scat.  Mrs.  Haim  was  perhaps  somewhat  pale,  but 
she  gave  a  sincere  positive  assurance  that  she  was  per- 
fectly well  again.  Reassurance  spread  throughout  the 
company.  Forebodings  vanished;  hearts  lightened; 
gladness  reigned;  the  excellence  of  crumpets  became  ap- 
parent. And  all  this  swift  wonderful  change  was 
brought  about  by  the  simple  entry  of  the  woman.     But 


THE  TEA  111 

beneath  the  genuine  relief  and  satisfaction  of  the  men 
there  stirred  vaguely  the  thought  of  the  mysteriousness 
of  women,  of  the  entire  female  sex.  Mrs.  Haim,  char- 
woman, was  just  as  mysterious  as  any  other  woman.  As 
for  George,  despite  the  exhilaration  which  he  could  feel 
rising  in  him  effortless  and  unsought,  he  was  preoccupied 
by  more  than  women's  mysteriousness ;  the  conception  of 
destiny  lingered  and  faintly  troubled  him.  It  was  as 
though  he  had  been  walking  on  a  clear  path  through  a 
vast  and  empty  and  safe  forest,  and  the  eyes  of  a  tiger 
had  gleamed  for  an  instant  in  the  bush  and  gone.  Not  a 
real  tiger !  And  if  a  real  tiger,  then  a  tiger  that  would 
never  recur,  and  the  only  tiger  in  the  forest!  .  .  .  Yet 
the  entire  forest  was  transformed. 

Mrs.  Haim  was  wearing  the  blue  sateen.  It  was  a 
dress  unsuited  to  her  because  it  emphasised  her  large 
bulk ;  but  it  was  her  best  dress ;  it  shone  and  glittered ; 
it  imposed.  Her  duty  was  to  wear  it  on  that  Sunday 
afternoon.  She  was  shy,  without  being  self-conscious. 
To  preside  over  a  society  consisting  of  young  bloods, 
etchers  of  European  renown,  and  pillars  of  the  archi- 
tectural profession  was  an  ordeal  for  her.  She  did  not 
pretend  that  it  was  not  an  ordeal.  She  did  not  pretend 
that  the  occasion  was  not  extraordinary.  She  was 
quite  natural  in  her  calm  confusion.  She  was  not  even 
proud,  being  perhaps  utterly  incapable  of  social  pride. 
Her  husband  was  proud  for  her.  He  looked  at  her 
earnestly,  wistfully.  He  could  not  disguise  his  anxiety 
for  her  success.  Was  she  equal  to  the  role?  She  was. 
Of  course  she  was.  He  had  never  doubted  that  she 
would  be  (he  said  to  himself).  His  pride  increased, 
scarcely  escaped  being  fatuous. 

"  I  must  congratulate  you  on  the  new  front-doormat, 
Mrs.  Haim,"  said  Mr.  Prince,  with  notable  conversa- 
tional tact.     "  I  felt  it  at  once  in  the  dark." 


112  THE  ROLL-CALL 

]Mrs.  Halm  smiled. 

**  I  do  like  a  good  doormat,"  she  said.  *'  It  saves  so 
much  work,  I  always  think.  I  told  Mr.  Haim  I  thought 
we  needed  a  new  one,  and  bless  me  if  he  didn't  take  me 
straight  out  to  buy  one." 

The  new  doormat  expressed  Mrs.  Haim's  sole  and 
characteristic  criticism  of  the  organism  into  which  she 
had  so  unassumingly  entered.  Secure  in  the  adoration 
of  Mr.  Haim,  she  might  safely  have  turned  the  place 
upside  down  and  proved  to  the  Grove  that  she  could  act 
the  mistress  with  the  best  of  them ;  but  she  changed 
nothing  except  the  doormat.  The  kitchen  and  scullery 
had  already  been  hers  before  the  eye  of  Mr.  Haim  had 
fallen  upon  her ;  she  was  accustomed  to  them  and  had 
largely  fashioned  their  arrangements.  Her  own  furni- 
ture, such  of  it  as  was  retained,  had  been  put  into  the 
spare  bedroom  and  the  kitchen,  and  was  hardly  notice- 
able there.  The  dramatic  thing  for  her  to  do  would 
have  been  to  engage  another  charwoman.  But  Mrs. 
Haim  was  not  dramatic ;  she  was  accommodating.  She 
fitted  herself  in.  The  answer  to  people  who  asked  what 
Mr.  Haim  could  see  in  her,  was  that  what  Mr.  Haim 
first  saw  was  her  mere  way  of  existing,  and  that  in  the 
same  way  she  loved.  At  her  tea-table,  as  elsewhere, 
she  exhibited  no  special  quality ;  she  said  little ;  she  cer- 
tainly did  not  shine.  Nevertheless  the  three  men  were 
quite  happy  and  at  ease,  because  her  way  of  existing 
soothed  and  re-inspired  them.  George  especially  got 
gay;  and  he  narrated  the  automobile  adventure  of  the 
afternoon  with  amusing  gusto.  He  was  thereby  a  sort 
of  hero,  and  he  liked  that.  He  was  bound  by  his  posi- 
tion in  the  world  and  by  his  clothes  and  his  style  to 
pretend  to  some  extent  that  the  adventure  was  much 
less  extraordinary  to  him  than  it  seemed  to  them.  The 
others   made  no  pretence.     They  were  open-mouthed. 


THE  TEA  113 

Their  attitude  admitted  frankly  that  above  them  was  a 
world  to  which  they  could  not  climb,  that  they  were 
not  familiar  with  it  and  knew  nothing  about  it.  They 
admired  George;  they  put  it  to  his  credit  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  these  lofty  matters  and  moved  care- 
lessly and  f  reel}'  among  them ;  and  George  too  some- 
how thought  that  credit  was  due  to  him  and  that  his 
superiority  was  genuine. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  she'd  never  met  you  be- 
fore? "  exclaimed  Mr.  Haim. 

*'  Never  in  this  world !  " 

Mr.  Prince  remarked  calmly : 

"  You  must  have  had  a  very  considerable  effect  on 
her,  then."     His  eyes  twinkled. 

George  flushed  slightly.  The  idea  had  already  pre- 
sented itself  to  him  with  great  force.  "  Oh !  No !  " 
He  negligently  pooh-poohed  it. 

"  Well,  does  she  go  about  asking  every  man  she 
meets  what  his  Christian  name  is .''  " 

"  I  expect  she  just  does." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Mrs.  Haim  refilled 
a  cup. 

"  Something  will  have  to  be  done  soon  about  these 
motor-cars,"  observed  Mr.  Haim  at  length,  senten- 
tiously,  in  the  vein  of  "  Mustard  and  Cress."  "  That's 
very  evident." 

"  They  cost  so  much,"  said  Mr.  Prince.  "  Why ! 
They  cost  as  much  as  a  house,  some  of  them." 

"  More !  "  said  George. 

"  Nay,  nay ! "  Mr,  Haim  protested.  The  point 
had  come  at  which  his  Imagination  halted. 

"  Anyhow,  you  had  a  lucky  escape,"  said  Mr. 
Prince.  "  You  might  have  been  lamed  for  life  —  or 
anything." 

George  laughed. 


114  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  I  am  always  lucky,"  said  he.  He  thought :  "  I 
wonder  whether  I  am!  "     He  was  afraid. 

Mrs.  Haim  was  half  way  towards  the  door  before 
any  of  the  men  noticed  what  she  was  about.  She  had 
risen  silently  and  quickly ;  she  could  manoeuvre  that 
stout  frame  of  hers  with  surprising  facility.  There  was 
a  strange,  silly  look  on  her  face  as  she  disappeared,  and 
the  face  was  extremely  pale.  Mr.  Haim  showed  alarm, 
and  Mr.  Prince  concern.  Mr.  Haim's  hands  clasped 
the  arms  of  his  chair ;  he  bent  forward  hesitatingly. 

"What ?» 

Then  was  heard  the  noise  of  a  heavy  subsidence,  ap- 
parently on  the  stairs.  George  was  out  of  the  room 
first,  but  the  other  two  were  instantly  upon  him.  ]\Irs. 
Haim  had  fallen  at  the  turn  of  the  stairs;  her  body 
was  distributed  along  the  little  half-landing  there. 

"  My  God !     She's  fainted !  "  muttered  Mr.  Haim. 

"  We'd  better  get  her  into  the  bedroom,"  said  Mr. 
Prince,  with  awe. 

The  trouble  had  come  back,  but  in  a  far  more  acute 
form.  The  prostrate  and  unconscious  form,  all  crooked 
and  heaped  in  the  shadow,  intimidated  the  three  men, 
convicting  them  of  helplessness  and  lack  of  ready  wit. 
George  stood  aside  and  let  the  elder  pair  pass  him.  Mr. 
Haim  hurried  up  the  stairs,  bent  over  his  wife,  and 
seized  her  under  the  arms.  Mr.  Prince  took  her  by  the 
legs.  They  could  not  lift  her.  They  were  both  thin 
little  men  quite  unaccustomed  to  physical  exertion. 
Mrs.  Haim  lay  like  a  giantess  immovably  recumbent 
between  their  puny,  straining  figures. 

"  Here,  let  me  try,"  said  George  eagerly,  springing 
towards  the  group. 

With  natural  reluctance  Mr.  Halm  gave  way  to 
him.     George  stooped  and  braced  himself  to  the  effort^ 


THE  TEA  115 

His  face  was  close  to  the  blanched,  blind  face  of  Mrs. 
Haim.  He  thought  she  looked  very  young,  aston- 
ishingly young  in  comparison  with  either  Haim  or 
Prince.  Her  complexion  was  damaged  but  not  de- 
stroyed. Little  fluffy  portions  of  her  hair  seemed  ab- 
solutely girlish.  Her  body  was  full  of  nice  curves, 
which  struck  George  as  most  enigmatically  pathetic. 
But  indeed  the  whole  of  her  was  pathetic,  very  touching, 
very  precious  and  fragile.  Even  her  large,  shiny, 
shapeless  boots  and  the  coarse  sateen  stuflT  of  her  dress 
affected  him.  A  lump  embarrassed  his  throat.  He 
suddenly  understood  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Haim  towards 
her.  She  was  inexpressibly  romantic.  .  .  .  He  lifted 
her  torso  easily ;  and  pride  filled  him  because  he  could 
do  easily  what  others  could  not  do  at  all.  Her  arms 
trailed  limp.  Mr.  Haim  and  Mr.  Prince  jointly  raised 
her  lower  limbs.  George  staggered  backwards  up  the 
remainder  of  the  stairs.  As  they  steered  the  burden 
into  a  bedroom,  where  a  candle  was  burning,  Mrs.  Haim 
opened  her  eyes  and,  gazing  vacantly  at  the  ceiling, 
murmured  in  a  weak,  tired  voice : 

"  Fm  all  right.     It's  nothing.     Please  put  me  down.'* 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  love !  "  said  Mr.  Haim,  agitated. 

They  deposited  her  on  the  bed.  She  sighed;  then 
smiled.  A  slight  flush  showed  on  her  cheek  under  the 
light  of  the  candle  which  Mr.  Prince  was  holding  aloft. 
Mysterious  creature,  with  the  mysterious  forces  of  life 
flowing  and  ebbing  incomprehensibly  within  her!  To 
George  she  was  marvellous,  she  was  beautiful,  as  she 
lay  defenceless  and  silently  appealing. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cannon.  Thank  you  very  much," 
said  Mr.  Haim,  turning  to  the  strong  man. 

It  was  a  dismissal.  George  modestly  departed  from 
the  bedroom,  which  was  no  place  for  him.     After  a  few 


116  THE  ROLL-CALL 

minutes  Mr.  Prince  also  descended.  They  stood  to- 
gether at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  in  the  draught  from  the 
open  window  of  George's  room. 

"Hadn't  I  better  go  for  a  doctor.''"  George  sug- 
gested. 

•'  That's  what  I  said,"  replied  Mr.  Prince.  "  But  she 
"won't  have  one." 

«  But " 

"  Well,  she  won't." 

The  accommodating,  acquiescent  dame,  with  scarcely 
strength  to  speak,  was  defeating  all  three  of  them  on 
that  one  point. 

"  ^Tiat  is  it  ?  "  asked  George  confidentially. 

"  Oh !     I  don't  suppose  it's  anything  really." 

n 

That  George  should  collect  the  tea-things  together 
on  the  tray  and  brush  and  fold  the  cloth,  and  carry  the 
loaded  tray  downstairs  into  the  scullery  was  sufficiently 
strange.  But  it  was  very  much  more  strange  that  he 
should  have  actually  had  the  idea  of  washing  up  the 
tea-things  himself.  In  his  time,  in  the  domestic  crises 
of  Bursley,  he  had  boyishly  helped  ladies  to  wash  up, 
and  he  reckoned  that  he  knew  all  about  the  operation. 
There  he  stood,  between  the  kitchen  and  the  scullery, 
elegantly  attired,  with  an  enquiring  eye  upon  the  kettle 
of  warm  water  on  the  stove,  debating  whether  he  should 
make  the  decisive  gesture  of  emptying  the  kettle  into  the 
large  tin  receptacle  that  lay  on  the  slopstone.  Such 
was  the  miraculous  effect  on  him  of  Mrs.  Haim's  sim- 
plicity, lier  weakness,  and  her  predicament.  Mrs.  Haim 
was  a  different  woman  for  him  now  that  he  had  carried 
her  upstairs  and  laid  her  all  limp  and  girlish  on  the 
solemn  conju/ral  bed  !  He  felt  quite  sure  that  old  Haim 
was  incapable  of  washing  up.      He  assuredly  did  not 


THE  TEA  117 

want  to  be  caught  in  the  act  of  washing  up,  but  he  did 
want  to  be  able  to  say  in  his  elaborately  nonchalant 
manner,  answering  a  question  about  the  disappearance 
of  the  tea-things :  "  I  thought  I  might  as  well  wash  up 
while  I  was  about  it."  And  he  did  want  Mrs.  Haim  to 
be  put  in  a  flutter  by  the  news  that  Mr.  George  Cannon 
had  washed  up  for  her.  The  affair  would  positively 
cause  a  sensation. 

He  was  about  to  begin,  taking  the  risks  of  premature 
discovery,  when  he  heard  a  noise  above.  It  was  Mr. 
Haim  at  last  descending  the  stairs  to  the  ground-floor. 
George  started.  He  had  been  alone  in  the  lower  parts 
of  the  house  for  a  period  which  seemed  long.  (Mr. 
Prince  had  gone  to  the  studio,  promising  to  return  la- 
ter.) The  bedroom  containing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haim  had 
become  for  him  the  abode  of  mystery.  The  entity  of  the 
enchanted  house  had  laid  hold  of  his  imagination.  He 
had  thought  of  Marguerite  as  she  used  to  per\'ade  the 
house,  and  of  his  approaching  interview  with  her  at  the 
Manresa  Road  studio.  He  had  thought  very  benevo- 
lently of  Marguerite  and  also  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haim. 
He  had  involved  them  all  three,  in  his  mind,  in  a  net  of 
peace  and  goodwill.  He  saw  the  family  quarrel  as 
something  inevitable,  touching,  absurd, —  the  work  of 
a  maleficent  destinv  which  he  might  somehow  undo  and 
exorcise  by  the  magic  act  of  washing  up,  to  be  followed 
by  other  acts  of  a  more  diplomatic  and  ingenious  na- 
ture. And  now  the  dull,  distant  symptoms  of  Mr.  Haim 
on  the  stairs  suddenly  halted  him  at  the  very  outset  of 
his  benignant  machinations.  He  listened.  If  the  peace 
of  the  world  had  depended  upon  his  washing  up  he  could 
not  have  permitted  himself  to  be  actually  seen  in  the 
role  of  kitchen-girl  by  Mr.  Haim, —  so  extreme  was  his 
lack  of  logic  and  right  reason.  There  was  a  silence, 
a  protracted  silence,  and  then  Mr.  Haim  unmistakably 


118  THE  ROLL-CALL 

came  down  the  basement  stairs,  and  George  thanked 
God  that  he  had  not  allowed  his  impulse  to  wash  up 
run  away  with  his  discretion  to  the  ruin  of  his  dignity. 

Mr.  Haim,  hesitating  in  the  kitchen  doorway,  peered 
5n  front  of  hira  as  if  at  a  loss.  George  had  shifted  the 
kitchen  lamp  from  its  accustomed  place. 

"  I'm  here,"  said  George,  moving  slightly  in  the  dim 
light.  "  I  thought  I  might  as  well  make  myself  useful 
and  clear  the  table  for  you.  How  is  she  going  on?  " 
He  spoke  cheerfully,  even  gaily,  and  he  expected  Mr. 
Haim  to  be  courteously  appreciative  —  perhaps  en- 
thusiastic in  gratitude. 

"  Mrs.  Haim  is  quite  recovered,  thank  you.  It  was 
only  a  passing  indisposition,"  said  Mr.  Halm,  using  one 
of  his  ridiculously  stilted  phrases.  His  tone  was 
strange ;  it  was  very  strange. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  George,  with  a  gaiety  that  was 
now  forced,  a  bravado  of  gaiety. 

He  thought : 

"  The  old  chump  evidently  doesn't  like  me  interfering. 
Silly  old  pompous  ass ! "  Nevertheless  his  attitude 
towards  the  huffy  landlord,  if  scornful,  was  good- 
humoured  and  indulgent. 

Then  he  noticed  that  Mr.  Haim  held  in  his  hand  a 
half  sheet  of  notepaper  which  disturbingly  seemed 
familiar. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Mr.  Cannon?"  Mr. 
Haim  demanded,  advancing  towards  the  brightness  of 
the  lamp  and  extending  the  paper.  He  was  excessively 
excited.     Excitement  always  intensified  his  age. 

The  offered  document  was  the  letter  which  George  had 
that  morning  received  from  Marguerite.  The  missive 
was  short,  a  mere  note,  but  its  terms  could  leave  no 
doubt  as  to  the  relations  between  the  writer  and  the 
recipient.     Moreover  it  ended  with  a  hieroglyphic  sign. 


THE  TEA  119 

several  times  repeated,  whose  significance  is  notorious 
throughout  the  civilised  world. 

"  Where  did  jou  get  that  ?  "  muttered  George,  with  a 
defensive  menace  half-formed  in  his  voice.  He  faltered. 
His  mood  had  not  yet  become  definitive. 

Mr.  Haim  answered : 

"  I  have  just  picked  it  up  in  the  hall,  sir.  The  wind 
must  have  blown  it  off  the  table  in  jour  room,  and  the 
door  was  left  open.  I  presume  that  I  have  the  right  to 
read  papers  I  find  lying  about  in  my  own  house." 

George  was  dashed.  On  returning  home  from  Mrs. 
John's  luncheon  he  had  changed  his  suit  for  another  one 
almost  equally  smart,  but  of  Angola  and  therefore 
more  comfortable.  He  liked  to  change.  Pie  had  taken 
the  letter  out  of  a  side-pocket  of  the  jacket  and  put  it 
with  his  watch,  raonej^,  and  other  kit  on  the  table  while 
he  changed,  and  he  had  placed  everything  back  into  the 
proper  pockets,  everything  except  the  letter.  Careless- 
ness !  A  moment  of  negligence  had  brought  about  the 
irremediable.  The  lovely  secret  was  violated.  The 
whole  of  his  future  life  and  of  Marguerite's  future  life 
seemed  to  have  been  undermined  and  contaminated  by 
that  single  act  of  omission.  Marguerite  wrote  seldom 
to  him  because  of  the  risks.  But  precautions  had  been 
arranged  for  the  occasions  when  she  had  need  to  write, 
and  she  possessed  a  small  stock  of  envelopes  addressed 
by  himself,  so  that  Mr.  Haim  might  never  by  chance, 
picking  up  an  envelope  from  the  hall-floor,  see  George's 
name  in  his  daughter's  hand.  And  now  Mr.  Haim  had 
picked  up  an  actual  letter  from  the  hall-floor.  And  the 
fault  for  the  disaster  was  George's  own. 

"  May  I  ask,  sir,  are  you  engaged  to  my  daughter?  " 
demanded  Mr.  Haim,  getting  every  instant  still  more 
excited. 

George  had  once  before  seen  him  agitated  about  Mar- 


120  THE  ROLL-CALL 

guerite,  but  by  no  means  to  the  same  degree.  He 
trembled.  He  shook.  His  dignity  had  a  touch  of  the 
grotesque ;  yet  it  remained  dignity  and  it  enforced  re- 
spect. For  George  destiny  seemed  to  dominate  the 
kitchen  and  the  scullery  like  a  presence.  He  and  the 
old  man  were  alone  together  in  that  presence,  and  he 
was  abashed.  He  was  conscious  of  awe.  The  old 
man's  mien  accused  him  of  an  odious  crime,  of  something 
base  and  shameful.  Useless  to  argue  with  himself  that 
he  was  entirely  guiltless,  that  he  had  the  right  to  be 
the  betrothed  of  either  Mr.  Haim's  daughter  or  any 
other  girl,  and  to  publish  or  conceal  the  betrothal  as 
he  chose  and  as  she  chose.  Yes,  useless !  He  felt,  in- 
explicably, a  criminal.  He  felt  that  he  had  committed 
an  enormity.  It  was  not  a  matter  of  argument ;  it  was 
a  matter  of  instinct.  The  old  man's  frightful  and 
irrational  resentment  was  his  condemnation.  He  could 
not  face  the  old  man. 

He  thought  grievously :  "  I  am  up  against  this  man. 
All  politeness  and  conventions  have  vanished.  It's  the 
real,  inmost  me,  and  the  real,  inmost  him."  Nobody 
else  could  take  a  part  in  the  encounter.  And  he  was 
sad,  because  he  could  not  blame  the  old  man.  Could 
he  blame  the  old  man  for  marrying  a  charwoman.'' 
Why,  he  could  only  adinire  him  for  marrying  the  char- 
woman. In  marrj'ing  the  charwoman  the  old  man  had 
done  a  most  marvellous  thing.  Could  he  blame  Mar- 
guerite? Impossible.  Marguerite's  behaviour  was 
perfectly  comprehensible.  He  understood  Marguerite 
and  he  understood  her  father ;  he  sympathised  with  both 
of  them.  But  Marguerite  could  not  understand  her 
father,  and  her  father  could  not  understand  either  his 
daughter  or  George.  Never  could  they  understand! 
He  alone  understood.  And  his  understanding  gave  him 
a  melancholy,  hopeless  feeling  of  superiority,  without 


THE  TEA  121 

at  all  lessening  the  strange  conviction  of  guilt.  He  had 
got  himself  gripped  bj  destiny.  Destiny  had  captured 
all  three  of  them.  But  not  the  fourth.  The  char- 
woman possessed  the  mysterious  power  to  defy  destiny. 
Perhaps  the  power  lay  in  her  simplicity.  .  .  .  Fool ! 
An  accursed  negligence  had  eternally  botched  his  high 
plans  for  peace  and  goodwill. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  I  am." 

"  And  how  long  have  you  been  engaged,  sir?  " 

"  Oh !  Since  before  Marguerite  left  here."  He  tried 
to  talk  naturally  and  calmly. 

"  Then  j'ou've  been  living  here  all  this  time  like  a  spy 
—  a  dirty  spy.  My  daughter  behaves  to  us  in  an  in- 
famous manner.  She  makes  an  open  scandal.  And  all 
the  time  you're " 

George  suddenly  became  very  angry.  And  his  anger 
relieved  and  delighted  him.  With  intense  pleasure  he 
felt  his  anger  surging  within  him.  He  frowned  sav- 
agely.    His  eyes  blazed.     But  he  did  not  move. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  interrupted,  with  cold  and  danger- 
ous fury.     "  She  didn't  do  anything  of  the  kind." 

Mr.  Haim  went  wildly  on,  daunted  possibly  by 
George's  defiance,  but  desperate; 

"  And  all  the  time,  I  say,  you  stay  on  here,  deceiving 
us,  spying  on  us.  Going  every  night  to  that  wicked, 
cruel,  shameful  girl  and  tittle-tattling.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  if  we'd  had  the  slightest  idea " 

George  walked  up  to  him. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  stand  here  and  listen  to  you  talk- 
ing about  Marguerite  like  that." 

Their  faces  were  rather  close  together.  George 
forced  himself  away  by  a  terrific  effort  and  left  the 
kitchen. 

"  Jackanapes !  " 

George  swung  round,  very  pale.     Then  with  a  hard 


122  THE  ROLL-CALL 

laugh  he  departed.  He  stood  in  the  hall,  and  thought 
of  Mrs.  Haim  upstairs.  The  next  moment  he  had  got 
his  hat  and  overcoat  and  was  in  the  street.  A  figure 
appeared  in  the  gloom.  It  was  Mr.  Prince. 
"  Hello!  Going  out.''  How  are  things?  " 
"Oh!  Fine!"  He  could  scarcely  articulate.  A 
ghastly  sob  impeded  the  words.  Tears  gushed  into  his 
eyes.  The  dimly  glowing  oblongs  in  the  dark  fafades  of 
the  Grove  seemed  unbearably  tragic. 

in 

No.  6  Romney  Studios,  ^lanresa  Road,  Chelsea,  was 
at  the  end  of  the  narrow  alley  which,  running  at  right 
angles  to  the  road,  had  a  blank  wall  on  its  left  and 
Romney  Studios  on  its  right.  The  studios  themselves 
were  nondescript  shanties  which  reminded  George  of 
nothing  so  much  as  the  office  of  a  clerk-of-the-works 
nailed  together  anyhow  on  ground  upon  which  a  large 
building  is  in  course  of  erection.  Thev  were  con- 
structed  of  brick,  wood,  waterproof  felting,  and  that 
adaptable  material  corrugated  iron.  No  two  were  alike. 
None  had  the  least  pretention  to  permanency,  comeli- 
ness, or  even  architectural  decency.  They  were  all 
horribly  hot  in  summer,  and  they  all  needed  immense 
stoves  to  render  them  habitable  in  winter.  In  putting 
them  up,  however,  cautiously'  and  one  by  one,  the  land- 
lord had  esteemed  them  to  be  the  sort  of  thing  that  was 
good  enough  for  artists  and  that  artists  would  willingly 
accept.  He  had  not  been  mistaken.  Though  inex- 
pensive they  were  dear,  but  artists  accepted  tliem  with 
eagerness.  None  was  ever  empty.  Thus  it  was  dem- 
onstrated once  more  that  artists  were  exactly  what 
capitalists  and  other  sagacious  persons  had  always  ac- 
cused Hioni  of  being. 

When  George  knocked  on  the  door  of  No.  6,  the  en- 


THE  TEA  123 

tire  studio,  and  No.  5  also,  vibrated.  As  a  rule  Agg, 
the  female  Cerberus  of  the  shanty,  answered  any  sum- 
mons from  outside ;  but  George  hoped  that  to-night  she 
would  be  absent ;  he  knew  by  experience  that  on  Sunday 
nights  she  usually  paid  a  visit  to  her  obstreperous  fam- 
ily in  Alexandra  Grove. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  young  man  in  a  rich  but 
torn  and  soiled  eighteenth-century  costume,  and  he 
looked,  in  the  half-light  of  the  entrance,  as  though  he 
was  just  recovering  from  a  sustained  debauch.  The 
young  man  stared  haughtily  in  silence.  Only  after  an 
appreciable  hesitation  did  George  see  through  the  dis- 
guise and  recover  himself  sufficiently  to  remark  with 
the  proper  nonchalance: 

"  Hello,  Agg !     What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

"  You're  before  your  time,"  said  she,  shutting  the 
door. 

While  he  took  off  his  overcoat  Agg  walked  up  the 
studio.  She  made  an  astonishingly  life-like  young  man. 
George  and  Agg  were  now  not  unfriendly ;  but  each 
constantly  criticised  the  other  in  silence,  and  both  were 
aware  of  the  existence  of  this  vast  body  of  unspoken 
criticism.  Agg  criticised  more  than  George,  who  had 
begun  to  take  the  attitude  that  Agg  ought  to  be  phil- 
osophically accepted  as  incomprehensible,  rather  than 
criticised.  He  had  not  hitherto  seen  her  in  male  cos- 
tume, but  he  would  not  exhibit  any  surprise. 

"Where's  Marguerite?"  he  enquired,  advancing  to 
the  stove  and  rubbing  his  hands  above  it. 

"  Restrain  your  ardour,"  said  Agg  lightly.  "  She'll 
appear  in  due  season.  I've  told  you  —  you're  before 
your  time." 

George  offered  no  retort.  Despite  his  sharp  walk, 
he  was  still  terribl}'  agitated  and  preoccupied,  and  the 
phenomena  of  the  lamplit  studio  had  not  yet  fully  im- 


124  THE  ROLL-CALL 

pressed  his  mind.  He  saw  them,  inchiding  Agg,  as 
hallucinations  gradually  turning  to  realities.  He  could 
not  be  worried  with  Agg.  His  sole  desire  was  to  be 
alone  with  Marguerite  immediately,  and  he  regarded  the 
fancy  costume  chiefly  as  an  obstacle  to  the  fulfilment  of 
that  desire,  because  Agg  could  not  depart  until  she  had 
changed  it  for  something  else. 

Then  his  gaze  fell  upon  a  life-size  oil-sketch  of  Agg  in 
the  eighteenth-century  male  dress.  The  light  was  bad, 
but  it  disclosed  the  sketch  sufficiently  to  enable  some 
judgment  on  it  to  be  formed.  The  sketch  was  exceed- 
ingly clever,  painted  in  the  broad  synthetic  manner 
which  Steer  and  Sickert  had  introduced  into  England 
as  a  natural  reaction  from  the  finicking  false  exactitudes 
of  the  previous  age.  It  showed  Agg,  glass  in  hand,  as 
a  leering,  tottering  young  drunkard  in  frills  and  velvet. 
The  face  was  odious,  but  it  did  strongly  resemble  Agg's 
face.     The  hair  was  replaced  by  a  bag  wig. 

"Who  did  that?" 

"  I  did,  of  course,"  said  Agg.  She  pointed  to  the 
large  mirror  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  studio. 

"  The  dickens  you  did !  "  George  murmured,  struck. 
But  now  that  he  knew  the  sketch  to  be  the  work  of  a 
woman  he  at  once  became  more  critical,  perceiving  in  it 
imitative  instead  of  original  qualities.  "  What  is  it.'* 
I  mean  what's  the  idea  at  the  back  of  it,  if  it  isn't  a  rude 
question,  Agfr?  " 

*'  Title:  '  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,'  "  said  Agg,  without 
a  smile.  She  was  walking  about,  in  a  convincing  mascu- 
line style.  Unfortunately  she  could  not  put  her  hands 
in  her  pockets,  as  the  costume  was  without  pockets. 

"  Is  that  your  notion  of  the  gent.''  " 

"  Didn't  you  know  I'm  supposed  to  be  very  like  him?  " 
cried  Agg,  vain.  The  stern  creature  had  frailties. 
Then  she  smiled  grimly.     "  Look  at  my  cold  blue  eyes, 


THE  TEA  125 

my  sharp  chin,  my  curly-curly  lips,  my  broad  forehead, 
my  clear  complexion.  And  I  hope  I'm  thin  enough. 
Look !  "  She  picked  up  the  bag  wig,  which  was  lying 
on  a  chair,  and  put  it  on,  and  posed.  The  pose  was 
effective. 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  lot  about  this  Charlie." 

"  Well,  our  well-beloved  brother  Sam  is  writing  a 
monograph  on  him,  you  see.     Besides,  every  one " 

"But  what's  the  idea.''  What's  the  scheme?  Why 
is  he  drunk.''  " 

"  He  always  was  drunk.  He  was  a  confirmed  drunk- 
ard at  thirty.  Both  his  fair  ladies  had  to  leave  him 
because  he  was  just  a  violent  brute.  And  so  on  and 
so  on.  I  thought  it  was  about  time  Charlie  was  shown 
up  in  his  true  colours.  And  I'm  doing  it !  .  .  .  After 
all  the  sugarstick  Academy  pictures  of  him,  my  picture 
will  administer  a  much  needed  tonic  to  our  dear  public. 
I  expect  I  can  get  it  into  next  year's  New  English  Art 
Club,  and  if  I  do  it  will  be  the  sensation  of  the  show. 
...  I  haven't  done  with  it  yet.  In  fact  I  only  started 
yesterday.  There's  going  to  be  a  lot  more  realism  in 
it  yet.  All  those  silly  Jacobite  societies  will  furiously 
rage  together.  .  .  .  And  it's  a  bit  of  pretty  good  paint- 
ing, you  know." 
-     "  It  is,"  George  agreed.     "  But  it's  a  wild  scheme." 

"  Not  so  wild  as  you  think,  my  minstrel  boy.  It's 
very  much  needed.  It's  symbolic,  that  picture  is.  It's 
a  symbolic  antidote.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  put  me  on 
to  it?     Look  here." 

She  led  liini  to  Marguerite's  special  work-table,  under 
the  curtained  window.  There,  on  a  sheet  of  paper 
stretched  upon  a  drawing-board,  was  the  finished  de- 
sign which  Marguerite  had  been  labouring  at  for  two 
days.  It  was  a  design  for  a  book-binding,  and  the 
title  of  the  book  was,  "  Tlie  Womanly  Woman,"  and 


12€  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  author  of  the  book  was  Sir  Aniurath  Onway,  ^LD., 
D.Sc,  F.R.S.,  a  famous  specialist  in  pathology.  Mar- 
guerite, under  instruction  from  the  bookbinders,  had 
drawn  a  sweet  picture,  in  quiet  colours,  of  a  womanly 
woman  in  a  tea-gown,  sitting  in  a  cosy  corner  of  a 
boudoir.  The  volume  was  destined  to  open  the  spring 
season  of  a  publishing  firm  of  immense  and  historic 
respectability. 

''Look  at  it!  Look  at  it!"'  Agg  insisted.  ''I've 
read  the  book  myself.  Poor  Marguerite  had  to  go 
through  the  proofs,  so  that  she  could  be  sure  of  getting 
the  spirit  of  the  binding  right.  Do  you  know  why  he 
wrote  it.'*  He  hates  his  wife  —  that's  why.  His  wife 
isn't  a  womanly  woman,  and  he's  put  all  his  hatred  of 
her  into  this  immortal  rubbish.  Read  this  great  work, 
and  you  will  be  made  to  see  what  fine,  noble  creatures 
we  men  are  " —  she  strode  to  and  fro  — "  and  how  a 
woman's  first  duty  is  to  recognise  her  inferiority  to  us, 
and  be  womanly.  .  .  .  Damme !  ...  As  soon  as  I  saw 
what  poor  Marguerite  had  to  do  I  told  her  I  should 
either  have  to  go  out  and  kill  some  one,  or  produce  an 
antidote.  And  then  it  occurred  to  me  to  tell  the  truth 
about  one  of  the  leading  popular  heroes  of  history." 
She  bowed  in  the  direction  of  the  canvas.  "  I  began 
to  feel  better  at  once.  I  got  the  costume  from  a  friend 
of  the  learned  Sam's,  and  I've  ruined  it.  .  .  .  I'm  feel- 
ing quite  bright  to-night." 

She  gazed  at  George  with  her  cold  blue  eyes,  arraign- 
ing in  his  person  the  whole  sex  which  she  thought  she 
despised,  but  which  her  deepest  instinct  it  was  to  coun- 
terfeit. George,  while  admiring,  was  a  little  dismayed. 
She  was  sarcastic.  She  had  brains  and  knowledge  and 
ideas.  There  was  an  intellectual  foundation  to  her 
picture.  And  she  could  paint  —  like  a  witch'  Oh! 
She  was  ruthlessly  clever !     Well,  he  did  not  like  her. 


THE  TEA     •  127 

What  he  wanted,  though  he  would  not  admit  it,  was 
old  Onway's  womanly  woman.  And  especially  in  that 
hour  he  wanted  the  womanly  woman. 

"  What's  Marguerite  up  to?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  After  the  heat  and  the  toil  of  the  day  she's  beau- 
tifying herself  for  your  august  approval,"  said  Agg 
icily.  "  I  expect  she's  hurrying  all  she  can.  But 
naturally  you  expect  her  to  be  in  a  permanent  state  of 
waiting  for  you  —  fresh  out  of  the  cotton  wool." 

The  next  instant  Marguerite  appeared  out  of  the 
cubicle  or  dressing-room  which  had  been  contrived  in  a 
corner  of  the  studio  to  the  left  of  the  door.  She  was 
in  her  plain,  everyday  attire,  but  she  had  obviously 
just  washed,  and  her  smooth  hair  shone  from  the 
brush. 

"  Well,  George." 

«  Well,  Marguerite." 

Both  spoke  casually.  Celia  Agg  was  the  only  person 
in  the  world  privy  to  their  engagement ;  but  they  per- 
mitted themselves  no  freedoms  in  front  of  her.  As 
IMarguerite  came  near  to  George,  she  delicately  touched 
his  arm, —  nothing  more.  She  was  smiling  happily,  but 
as  soon  as  she  looked  close  at  his  face  under  the  lamp, 
her  face  changed  completely.  He  thought :  "  She  un- 
derstands there's  something  up." 

She  said,  not  without  embarrassment : 

"  George,  I  really  must  have  some  fresh  air.  I 
haven't  had  a  breath  all  day.     Is  it  raining?  " 

"No.     Would  you  like  to  go  for  a  walk?" 

"Oh!     I  should!" 

He  was  very  grateful,  and  also  impressed  by  the 
accuracy  of  her  intuitions  and  her  quick  resourceful- 
ness. She  had  comprehended  at  a  glance  that  he  had 
a  profound  and  urgent  need  to  be  alone  with  her.  She 
was  marvellously   comforting,  precious  beyond  price. 


128  THE  ROLL-CALL 

All  his  susceptibilities,  wounded  by  the  scene  at  Alex- 
andra Grove,  and  further  irritated  by  Agg,  were  in- 
stantaneously salved  and  soothed.  Her  tones,  her 
scarcely  perceptible  gesture  of  succour,  produced  the 
assuaging  miracle.  She  fulfilled  her  role  to  perfection. 
She  was  a  talented  and  competent  designer,  but  as  the 
helpmeet  of  a  man  she  had  genius.  His  mind  dwelt  on 
her  with  rapture. 

"  You'll  be  going  out  as  soon  as  you've  changed, 
dear?  "  she  said  affectionately  to  Agg. 

*'  Yes,"  answered  Agg,  who  at  the  mirror  was  wiping 
from  her  face  the  painted  signs  of  alcoholism.  She  had 
thrown  off  the  bag  wig.  *'  You'd  better  take  the  key 
with  you.  You'll  be  back  before  I  am."  She  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  draped  settees  which  were  beds  in  dis- 
guise, and  Marguerite  got  a  hat,  cloak,  and  gloves. 

While  George  was  resuming  his  overcoat,  which  Mar- 
guerite held  for  him,  Agg  suddenly  sprang  up  and 
rushed  towards  them. 

"  Good  night.  Flora  Macdonald,"  she  murmured  in 
her  deep  voice  in  Marguerite's  ear,  put  masculine  arms 
round  her  and  kissed  her.  It  was  a  truly  remarkable 
bit  of  male  impersonating,  as  George  had  to  admit, 
though  he  resented  it. 

Then  she  gave  a  short,  harsh  laugh. 

"  Good  night,  old  Agg,''^  said  Marguerite,  with  sweet 
responsiveness,  and  smiled  ingenuously  at  George. 

George,  impatient,  opened  the  door,  and  the  damp 
wind  swept  anew  into  the  studio. 


IV 


It  was  a  fine  night ;  the  weather  had  cleared,  and  the 
pavements  were  drying.  George,  looking  up  in  a  pause 
of  the  eager  conversational  exchanges,  drew  tonic  air 
mightily  into  his  lungs. 


THE  TEA  129 

"  Where  are  we?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tite  Street,"  said  Marguerite.  "  That's  the  Tower 
House."  And  she  nodded  towards  the  formidable  sky- 
scraper which  another  grade  of  landlord  had  erected 
for  another  grade  of  artists  who  demanded  studios  from 
the  capitalist.  Marguerite,  the  Chelsea  girl,  knew 
Chelsea,  if  she  knew  nothing  else;  her  feet  turned  cor- 
ners in  the  dark  with  assurance,  and  she  had  no  need 
to  look  at  street  signs.  George  regarded  the  short  thor- 
oughfare made  notorious  by  the  dilettantism,  the  mod- 
ishness,  and  the  witticisms  of  art.  It  had  an  impressive 
aspect.  From  the  portico  of  one  higlily  illuminated 
house  a  crimson  carpet  stretched  across  the  pavement 
to  the  gutter;  some  dashing  blade  of  the  brush  had 
maliciously  determined  to  affront  the  bourgeois  Sab- 
bath. George  stamped  on  the  carpet ;  he  hated  it  be- 
cause it  was  not  his  carpet ;  and  he  swore  to  himself  to 
possess  that  verj'  carpet  or  its  indistinguishable  brother. 

"  I  was  a  most  frightful  ass  to  leave  that  letter  lying 
about !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh !  George !  "  she  protested  lovingly.  "  It  could 
so  easily  happen  —  a  thing  like  that  could.  It  was 
just  bad  luck." 

A  cushion !  The  divinest  down  cushion !  That  was 
what  she  was !  She  was  more.  She  defended  a  man 
against  himself.  She  restored  him  to  perfection.  Her 
affectionate  faith  was  a  magical  inspiration  to  him ;  it 
was,  really,  the  greatest  force  in  the  world.  Most 
women  would  have  agreed  with  him,  however  tactfully, 
that  he  had  been  careless  about  the  letter.  An  Adela 
would  certainly  have  berated  him  in  her  shrewish,  thin 
tones.  A  Lois  would  have  been  sarcastic,  scornfully 
patronising  him  as  a  "  boy."  And  what  would  Agg 
have  done?  .  .  .  They  might  have  forgiven  and  even 
forgotten,    but    they    would   have   indulged   themselves 


130  THE  ROLL-CALL 

first.  Marguerite  was  exteriorly  simple.  After  all, 
she  would  not  perhaps  successfully  dominate  a  drawing- 
room.  She  would  cut  no  figure  playing  with  lives  at 
the  wheel  of  an  automobile.  She  would  no  doubt  be 
ridiculous  in  the  costume  of  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie. 
But  she  was  finer  than  the  other  women  whose  images 
floated  in  his  mind.  And  she  was  worth  millions  of 
them.  He  was  overpowered  by  the  sense  of  his  good 
fortune  in  finding  her.  He  went  cold  at  the  thought  of 
what  he  would  have  missed  if  he  had  not  found  her.  He 
would  not  try  to  conceive  what  his  existence  would  be 
without  her,  for  it  would  be  unendurable.  Of  this  he 
was  convinced. 

"Do  you  think  he'll  go  talking  about  it.''"  George 
asked,  meaning  of  course  Mr.   Haim. 

"  More  likely  she  will,"  said  Marguerite. 

He  positively  could  feel  her  lips  tightening.  Futile 
to  put  in  a  word  for  Mrs.  Haim !  When  he  had  de- 
scribed the  swoon.  Marguerite  had  shown  neither  con- 
cern nor  curiosity.  Not  the  slightest !  Antipathy  to 
her  stepmother  had  radiated  from  her  almost  visibly 
in  the  night  like  the  nimbus  round  a  street-lamp.  Well, 
she  did  not  understand;  she  was  capable  of  injustice; 
she  was  quite  wrong  about  Mrs.  Haim.  What  matter? 
Her  whole  being  was  centralised  on  himself.  He  was 
aware  of  his  superiority. 

He  went  on  quietly : 

"  If  the  old  man  gets  chattering  at  the  office,  the 
Orgreavcs  will  know,  and  the  next  minute  the  news'll 
be  in  the  Five  Towns.  I  can't  possibly  let  my  people 
hear  from  anybody  else  of  my  engagemevt  before  they 
hear  from  me.  However,  if  it  comes  to  the  point,  we'll 
tell  everybody.      Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  but  dearest!  It  was  so  nice  it  being  a  secret. 
It  was  the  loveliest  thing  in  the  world." 


THE  TEA  131 


« 


Yes,  it  was  jollj." 

"  Perhaps  father  will  feel  differently  in  the  morning, 
and  then  you  can " 

"  He  won't,"  said  George  flatly.  "  You  don't  know 
what  a  state  he's  in.  I  didn't  tell  you  —  he  called 
me  a  spy  in  the  house,  a  dirty  spy.  Likewise  a  jacka- 
napes. Doubtless  a  delicate  illusion  to  my  tender 
years." 

"  He  didfiH!  " 

"  He  did,  honestly." 

"  So  that  was  what  upset  you  so !  "  Marguerite  mur- 
mured. It  was  her  first  admission  that  she  had  noticed 
his  agitation. 

"  Did  I  look  so  upset  then.?  " 

"  George,  you  looked  terrible.  I  felt  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  for  us  to  go  out  at  once." 

"  Oh !  But  surely  I  wasn't  so  upset  as  all  that  ?  " 
said  George,  finding  in  Marguerite's  statement  a  reflec- 
tion upon  his  ability  to  play  the  part  of  an  imperturb- 
able man  of  the  world.  "  Agg  didn't  seem  to  see  any- 
thing." 

"  Agg  doesn't  know  you  like  I  do." 

She  insinuated  her  arm  into  his.  He  raised  his 
hand  and  took  hold  of  hers.  In  the  left  pocket 
of  his  over-coat  he  could  feel  the  somewhat  un- 
wield}'^  key  of  the  studio.  He  was  happy. 
The  domestic  feel  of  the  key  completed  his  happi- 
ness. 

"  Of  course  I  can't  stay  on  there,"  said  he. 

"  At  father's  ?  Oh  !  I  do  wish  father  hadn't  talked 
like  that."     She  spoke  sadly,  not  critically. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  sleep  there  to-night.  But  I'm 
not  going  to  have  my  breakfast  there  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. No  fear !  I'll  have  it  up  town.  Lucas'Il  be  able 
to  put  me  up  to  some  new  digs.     He  always  knows  about 


13a  THE  ROLL-CALL 

that  sort  of  thing.  Then  I'll  drive  down  and  remove 
all  my  worldly  in  a  four-wheeler." 

He  spoke  with  jauntiness,  in  his  role  of  male  who  is 
easily  equal  to  any  situation.  But  she  said  in  a  low, 
tenderly  commiserating'  voice : 

"  It's  a  shame  !  " 

"  Not  a  bit !  "  he  replied.  Then  he  suddenly  stood 
still  and  brouglit  her  to  a  halt.  Under  his  erratic 
guidance  they  had  turned  along  Dilke  Street,  and  north- 
wards again,  past  the  Botanical  Garden.  "  And  this 
is  Paradise  Row !  "  he  said,  surveying  the  broad  street 
which  they  had  come  into. 

"Paradise  Row?"  she  corrected  him  softly.  "No, 
dear,  it's  Queen's  Road.      It  runs  into  Pimlico  Road." 

"  I  mean  it  used  to  be  Paradise  Row,"  he  explained. 
**  It  was  the  most  fashionable  street  in  Chelsea,  you 
know.     Everybody  that  was  anybody  lived  here." 

"  Oh !  Really  !  "  She  showed  an  amiable  desire  to 
be  interested,  but  her  interest  did  not  survive  more  than 
a  few  seconds.  "  I  didn't  know.  I  know  Paradise 
Walk.  It's  that  horrid  little  passage  down  there  on 
the  right." 

She  had  not  the  historic  sense ;  and  she  did  not 
understand  his  mood,  did  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
suspect  that  events  had  been  whipping  his  ambition 
once  more,  and  that  at  that  moment  he  was  enjoying 
the  seventeenth  and  even  the  sixteenth  centuries,  and 
thinking  of  Sir  Thomas  More  and  Miss  More  and  all 
manner  of  grandiose  personages  and  abodes,  and  re- 
belling obstinately  against  the  fact  that  he  was  as  yet 
a  nonentity  in  Chelsea,  whereas  he  meant  in  the  end  to 
yield  to  nobody  in  distinction  and  renown.  He  knew 
that  she  did  not  understand,  and  he  would  not  pretend 
to  himself  that  she  did.     There  was  no  reason  whv  she 


THE  TEA  133 

should  understand.  He  did  not  particularly  want  her 
to  understand. 

"  Let's  have  a  look  at  the  river,  shall  we?  "  he  sug- 
gested, and  they  moved  towards  Cheyne  Walk. 

"  Dearest,"  she  said.  "  You  must  come  and  have 
breakfast  at  the  studio  to-morrow  morning.  I  shall 
get  it  myself." 

"  But  Agg  won't  like  me  poking  my  nose  in  for 
breakfast." 

"  You  great  silly !  Don't  you  know  she  simply 
adores  you.''  " 

He  was  certainly  startled  by  this  remark,  and  he 
began  to  like  Agg. 

"  Old  Agg !  Not  she !  "  he  protested,  pleased,  but  a 
little  embarrassed.     "  Will  she  be  up.''  " 

"  You'll  see  whether  she'll  be  up  or  not.  Nine 
o'clock's  the  time,  isn't  it.''  " 

They  reached  the  gardens  of  Cheyne  Walk.  Three 
bridges  hung  their  double  chaplets  of  lights  over  the 
dark  river.  On  the  southern  shore  the  shapes  of  high 
trees  waved  mysteriously  above  the  withdrawn  woodland 
glades  that  in  daytime  were  Battersea  Park.  Here  and 
there  a  tiny  red  gleam  gave  warning  that  a  pier  jutted 
out  into  the  stream ;  but  nothing  moved  on  the  water. 
The  wind  that  swept  clean  the  pavements  had  un- 
clouded ten  million  stars.  It  was  a  wind  unlike  any 
other  wind  that  ever  blew,  at  once  caressing  and  roughly 
challenging.  The  two,  putting  it  behind  them,  faced 
eastward,  and  began  to  pass  one  by  one  the  innumer- 
able ornate  gas-lamps  of  Chelsea  Embankment,  which 
stretched  absolutely  rectilinear  in  front  of  them  for  a 
clear  mile.  No  soul  but  themselves  was  afoot.  But 
on  the  left  rose  gigantic  and  splendid  houses,  palaces 
designed  by  modern  architects,  vying  with  almost  any 


134.  THE  ROLL-CALL 

houses  in  London,  some  dark,  others  richly  illuminated 
and  full  of  souls  luxurious,  successful,  and  dominant. 
As  the  girl  talked  creatively  about  the  breakfast,  her 
arm  pressed  his ;  and  his  fingers  clasped  her  acquiescent 
fingers,  and  her  chaste  and  confiding  passion  ran 
through  him  in  powerful  voltaic  currents  from  some 
inexhaustible  source  of  energy  in  her  secret  heart.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  since  their  ride  home  in  the  hansom 
from  the  Promenade  concert  her  faculty  for  love  had 
miraculously  developed.  He  divined  great  deeps  in  her, 
and  deeps  beyond  those  deeps.  The  tenderness  which 
he  felt  for  her  was  inexpressible.  He  said  not  a  word, 
keeping  to  himself  the  terrific  resolves  to  which  she,  and 
the  wind,  and  the  spectacular  majesty  of  London  in- 
spired him.  He  and  she  would  live  regally  in  one  of 
those  very  houses,  and  people  should  kowtow  to  her 
because  she  was  the  dazzling  wife  of  the  renowned  young 
architect  George  Cannon.  And  he  would  show  her  to 
Mrs.  John  Orgreave  and  to  Lois,  and  those  women 
should  acknowledge  in  her  a  woman  incomparably  their 
superior.  They  should  not  be  able  to  hide  their  im- 
pressed astonishment  when  they  saw  her. 

Nothing  of  all  this  did  he  impart  to  her  as  she  hung 
supported  and  inspiring  on  his  arm.  He  held  it  all  in 
reserve  for  her.  And  then,  thinking  again  for  a  mo- 
ment of  what  she  had  said  about  Agg's  liking  for  him, 
he  thought  of  Agg's  picture  and  of  INLarguerite's  design 
whicli  had  originated  the  picture.  It  was  a  special 
design,  new  for  Marguerite,  whose  bindings  were  gen- 
erally of  conventional  patterns;  it  was  to  be  paid  for 
at  a  special  price  because  of  its  elaborateness ;  she  had 
worked  on  it  for  nearly  two  days ;  in  particular  she 
had  stayed  indoors  during  the  whole  of  Sunday  to  finish 
it;  and  it  was  efficient,  skilful,  as  good  as  it  could  be. 
It  had  filled  her  life  for  nearly  two  days, —  and  he  had 


THE  TEA  135 

not  even  mentioned  it  to  her !  In  the  ruthless  egotism 
of  the  ambitious  man  he  had  forgotten  it,  and  forgotten 
to  imagine  sympathetically  the  contents  of  her  mind. 
Sharp  remorse  overcame  him ;  she  grew  noble  and  pa- 
thetic in  his  eyes.  .  .  .  Contrast  her  modest  and  tal- 
ented industry  with  the  exacting,  supercilious,  incapable 
idleness  of  a  Lois ! 

"  That  design  of  yours  is  J0II3'  good,"  he  said  shortly, 
without  any  introductory  phrases. 

She  perceptibly  started. 

"  Oh !  George !  I'm  so  glad  you  think  so.  I  was 
afraid.  You  know  it  was  horribly  difficult  —  they  give 
you  no  chance." 

"  I  know.     I  know.     You've  come  out  of  it  fine." 

She  was  in  heaven ;  he  also,  because  it  was  so  easy  for 
him  to  put  her  there.  He  glanced  backwards  a  few 
hours  into  the  past,  and  he  simply  could  not  compre- 
hend how  it  was  that  he  had  been  so  upset  by  the 
grotesque  scene  with  Mr.  Haim  in  the  basement  of 
No.  8.  Everything  was  aU  right ;  everything  was  ut- 
terly for  the  best. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    DINNER 


Early  on  the  morning  of  a  Tuesday  in  the  second 
half  of  June,  1903,  George  Cannon  was  moving  fast  on 
a  motor-bicycle  westwards  down  the  slope  of  Piccadilly. 
At  any  rate  he  had  the  sensation  of  earliness,  and  was 
indeed  thereby  quite  invigorated ;  it  almost  served  in- 
stead of  the  breakfast  which  he  had  not  yet  taken.  But 
thousands  of  people  travelling  in  the  opposite  direction 
in  horse-onmibuses  and  in  a  few  motor-buses  seemed 
to  regard  the  fact  of  their  being  abroad  at  that  hour 
as  dully  normal.  They  had  fought,  men  and  girls,  for 
places  in  the  crammed  vehicles ;  they  had  travelled  from 
far  lands  such  as  Putney ;  they  had  been  up  for  hours, 
and  the  morning,  which  was  so  new  to  George,  had  lost 
its  freshness  for  them ;  they  were  well  used  to  the  lus- 
trous summer  glories  of  the  Green  Park ;  what  they 
chiefly  beheld  in  the  Green  Park  was  the  endless  lines 
of  wayfarers  radiating  from  Victoria  along  the  various 
avenues  on  the  way,  like  themselves,  to  offices,  ware- 
houses, and  shops.  Of  the  stablemen,  bus-washers,  driv- 
ers, mechanics,  chauffeurs,  and  conductors,  who  had 
left  their  beds  much  in  advance  even  of  the  travellers, 
let  us  not  speak  —  even  they  had  begun  the  day  later 
than  their  wives,  mothers,  or  daughters.  All  this  flying 
population,    urged    and   preoccupied   b}'   pitiless    time, 

gazed  down  upon  George  and  saw  a  gay  young  swell 

136 


THE  DINNER  137 

without  a  care  in  the  world  rushing  on  **  one  of  those 
motor-bikes  "  to  freedom. 

George  was  well  aware  of  the  popular  gaze,  and  he 
supported  it  with  negligent  pride.  He  had  the  air  of 
having  been  born  to  greatness ;  cigarette  smoke  and 
the  fumes  of  exploded  petrol  and  the  rattle  of  explosions 
made  a  fine  wake  behind  his  greatness.  In  two  years, 
since  he  had  walked  into  Mr.  Haira's  parlour,  his  body 
had  broadened,  his  e^'es  had  slightly  hardened,  and  his 
complexion  and  hair  had  darkened.  And  there  was  his 
moustache,  very  sprightly,  and  there  was  a  glint  of  gold 
in  his  teeth.  He  had  poor  teeth,  but  luxuriant  hair, 
ruthlessly  cut  and  disciplined  and  subjugated.  His 
trousers  were  clipped  tightly  at  the  ankles,  and  his 
jacket  loosely  buttoned  by  the  correct  button;  his  soft 
felt  hat  achieved  the  architect's  ideal  of  combining  the 
perfectlj^  artistic  with  the  perfectly  modish.  But 
the  most  remarkable  and  envy-raising  portion  of 
his  attire  was  the  loose  washable  yellow  gloves,  with 
large  gauntlets,  designed  to  protect  the  delicately- 
tended  hands  when  they  had  to  explore  among  ma- 
chinery'. 

He  had  obtained  the  motor-bicycle  in  a  peculiar  wav. 
On  arriving  at  Axe  station  for  the  previous  Christmas 
holidays,  he  had  seen  two  low-hung  lamps  brilliantly 
flashing  instead  of  the  higher  and  less  powerful  lamps  of 
the  dog-cart,  and  there  had  been  no  light-reflecting 
flanks  of  a  horse  in  front  of  the  lamps.  The  dark 
figure  sitting  behind  the  lamps  proved  to  be  his  mother. 
His  mother  herself  liad  driven  him  home.  He  noted 
calmly  that  as  a  chauffeur  she  had  the  same  faults  as 
the  contemned  Lois  Ingram.  Still,  she  did  drive,  and 
they  reached  Ladderedge  Hall  in  safety.  He  admired, 
and  he  was  a  little  frightened  by,  his  mother's  terrific 
voUtion  to  widen  her  existence.     She  would  insist  on 


138  THE  ROLL-CALL 

doing  everything  that  might  be  done,  and  nobody  could 
stop  her.  Who  would  have  dreamt  that  she,  with  her 
narrow,  troubled  past,  and  her  passionate  temperament 
rendered  somewhat  harsh  by  strange  experiences,  would 
at  the  age  of  forty  six  or  so,  be  careering  about  the 
country  at  the  wheel  of  a  motor-car?  Ah!  But  she 
would!  She  would  be  a  girl.  And  by  her  individual 
force  she  successfully  carried  it  off!  Those  two  plot- 
ters, she  and  his  stepfather,  had  conspired  to  buy  a 
motor-car  in  secret  from  him.  No  letter  from  home 
had  breathed  a  word  of  the  motor-car.  He  was  thun- 
derstruck, and  jealous.  He  had  spent  the  whole  of  the 
Christmas  holidays  in  that  car,  ajud  in  four  days  could 
drive  better  than  his  mother,  and  also  —  what  was 
more  difficult  —  could  convince  her  obstinate  self-assur- 
ance that  he  knew  far  more  about  the  mechanism  than 
she  did.  As  a  fact,  her  notions  of  the  mechanism, 
though  she  was  convinced  of  their  rightness,  were  mainly 
fantastic.  George  of  course  had  had  to  punish  his 
parents.  He  had  considered  it  his  duty  to  do  so. 
"  The  least  you  can  do,"  he  had  said  discontentedly  and 
menacingly,  "  the  least  j^ou  can  do  is  to  give  me  a  de- 
cent motor-bike  I  "  The  guilty  pair  had  made  amends 
in  the  manner  thus  indicated  for  them.  George  gath- 
ered from  various  signs  that  his  stepfather  was  steadily 
and  rapidly  growing  richer.  George  had  acted  accord- 
ingly,—  not  only  in  the  matter  of  the  motor-bicycle, 
but  in  other  matters. 

Now,  on  this  June  morning  he  had  just  begun  to 
breast  the  slope  rising  from  the  hollow  to  Hyde  Park 
Corner  when  a  boy  shot  out  from  behind  a  huge  sta- 
tionary dust-cart  on  the  left  and  dashed  unrcgarding 
towards  him.  George  shouted.  The  boy,  faced  wit}i 
sudden  death,  was  happily  so  paralysed  that  he  fell 
down,  thus  checking  his  momentum  by  the  severest  form 


THE  DINNER  139 

of  friction.  George  swerved  aside,  missing  the  small 
outstretched  hands  by  an  inch  or  two,  but  missing  also 
by  an  inch  or  two  the  front-wheel  of  a  tremendous 
motor-bus  on  his  right.  He  gave  a  nervous  giggle  as 
he  flashed  by  the  high  red  side  of  the  motor-bus ;  and 
then  he  deliberately  looked  back  at  the  murderous  boy, 
who  had  jumped  up.  At  the  same  moment  George  was 
brought  to  a  sense  of  his  own  foolishness  in  looking 
back  by  a  heavy  jolt.  He  had  gone  over  half  a  creo- 
soted  wood-block  which  had  somehow  escaped  from  a 
lozenge-shaped  oasis  in  the  road  where  two  workmen 
were  indolently  using  picks  under  the  magic  protection 
of  a  tinj',  dirty  red  flag.  Secure  in  the  guardianship  of 
the  bit  of  bunting,  which  for  them  was  as  powerful  and 
sacred  as  the  flag  of  an  empire,  the  two  workmen  gazed 
with  indifference  at  George  and  at  the  deafening  traffic 
"which  swirled  affronting  but  harmless  around  them. 
George  slackened  speed,  afraid  lest  the  jar  might  have 
snapped  the  plates  of  his  accumulator.  The  motor- 
bicycle  was  a  wondrous  thing,  but  as  capricious  and 
delicate  as  a  horse.  For  a  trifle,  for  nothing  at  all,  it 
would  cease  to  function.  The  high-tension  magneto 
and  the  float-feed  carburetter,  whose  invention  was  to 
transform  the  motor-bicycle  from  an  everlasting  har- 
assment into  a  means  of  locomotion,  were  yet  years 
away  in  the  future.  However,  the  jar  had  done  no 
harm.  The  episode,  having  occupied  less  than  ten  sec- 
onds, was  closed.  George  felt  his  heart  thumping.  He 
thought  suddenly  of  the  recent  Paris-INIadrid  automo- 
bile race,  in  which  the  elite  of  the  world  had  perished. 
He  saw  himself  beneath  the  motor-bus,  and  a  futile  star- 
ing crowd  round  about.  Simply  by  a  miracle  was 
he  alive.  But  this  miracle  was  only  one  of  a  score  of 
miracles.     He  believed  strongly  in  luck.     He  had  al- 


140  THE  ROLL-CALL 

ways  believed  in  it.  The  smoke  of  the  cigarette  dis- 
played his  confidence  to  all  Piccadilly.  Still,  his  heart 
was  thumping. 

And  it  had  not  ceased  to  thump  when  a  few  minutes 
later  he  turned  into  Manresa  Road.  Opposite  the 
entrance  to  the  alley  of  Romney  Studios,  there  hap- 
pened to  be  a  small  hiatus  in  the  kerbstone.  George 
curved  the  machine  largely  round  and,  mounting  the 
pavement  through  this  hiatus,  rode  gingerly  up  the 
alley,  in  defiance  of  the  regulations  of  a  great  city,  and 
stopped  precisely  at  the  door  of  No.  6.  It  was  a  mat- 
ter of  honour  with  him  to  arrive  thus.  Not  for  a 
million  would  he  have  walked  the  machine  up  the  alley. 
He  got  off,  sounded  a  peremptory  call  on  the  horn,  and 
tattooed  with  the  knocker.  No  answer  came.  An  ap- 
prehension visited  him.  By  the  last  post  on  the  pre- 
vious night  he  had  received  a  special  invitation  to 
breakfast  from  Marguerite.  Never  had  he  been  kept 
waiting  at  the  door.  He  knocked  again.  Then  he 
heard  a  voice  from  the  side  of  the  studio : 

"  Come  round  here,  George." 

In  the  side  of  the  studio  was  a  very  small  window 
from  which  the  girls,  when  unpresentable,  would  parley 
with  early  tradesmen.  Agg  was  at  the  window.  He 
could  see  only  her  head  and  neck,  framed  by  the  win- 
dow. Her  short  hair  was  tousled  and  she  held  a  dress- 
ing-gown tight  about  her  neck.  For  the  first  time  she 
seemed  to  him  like  a  real  feminine  girl,  and  her  tones 
were  soft  as  they  never  were  when  Marguerite  was 
present  with  her. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said.  "  You  woke  me.  I  was 
fast  asleep.     You  can't  come  in." 

"  Anytliing  up?"  he  questioned,  rather  anxiously. 
"  Where's  Marguerite?  " 

"Oh!     George!     A  dreadful  night!"  she  answered, 


THE  DINNER  141 

almost  plaintively,  almost  demanding  sympathy  from 
the  male, —  she,  Agg !  "  We  were  wakened  up  at  two 
o'clock.  Mr.  Prince  came  round  to  fetch  Marguerite 
to  go  to  No.  8'." 

"  To  go  to  No.  8 ! "  he  repeated,  frightened,  and 
wondered  why  he  should  be  frightened.  "  What  on 
earth  for?  " 

"  Mrs.  Haim  very  ill !  "  Agg  paused.  "  Something 
about  a  baby." 

"  And  did  she  go  ?  " 

"  Yes.     She  put  on  her  things  and  went  off  at  once." 

He  was  silent.  He  felt  the  rough  grip  of  destiny,  of 
some  strange  power  irresistible  and  inescapable,  just 
as  he  had  momentarily  felt  it  in  the  basement  of  No.  8 
more  than  eighteen  months  before,  when  the  outraged 
Mr.  Haim  had  quarrelled  with  him.  The  mere  idea  of 
Marguerite  being  at  No.  8  made  him  feel  sick.  He  no 
longer  believed  in  his  luck. 

"How  soon  d'ye  think  she'll  be  back?  " 

"I  —  I  don't  know,  George.  I  should  have  thought 
she'd  have  been  back  before  this." 

"  I'll  run  round  there,"  he  said  curtly. 

Agg  was  disconcertingly,  astoundingly  sympathetic. 
Her  attitude  increased  his  disturbance. 

II 

When  George  rang  the  bell  at  No.  8  Alexandra 
Grove  his  mysterious  qualms  were  intensified.  He 
dreaded  the  moment  when  the  door  should  open,  even 
though  it  should  be  opened  by  Marguerite  herself. 
And  yet  he  had  a  tremendous  desire  to  see  Marguerite, 
—  merely  to  look  at  her  face,  to  examine  it,  to  read  it. 
His  summons  was  not  answered.  He  glanced  about. 
The  steps  were  dirty.  The  brass  knob  and  the  letter- 
flap  had  not  been  polished.     After  a  time  he  pushed  up 


142  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  flap  and  gazed  within,  and  saw  the  interior  which 
he  knew  so  well  and  which  he  had  not  entered  for  so 
many  months.  Nothing  was  changed  in  it,  but  it  also 
had  a  dusty  and  neglected  air.  Every  detail  roused 
his  memory.  The  door  of  what  had  once  been  his  room 
was  shut ;  he  wondered  what  the  room  was  now.  This 
house  held  the  greatest  part  of  his  history.  It  lived 
in  his  mind  as  vitally  as  even  the  boarding-house  kept 
by  his  mother  in  a  side-street  in  Brighton,  romantic  and 
miserable  scene  of  his  sensitive  childhood.  It  was  a 
solemn  house  for  him.  Through  the  basement  window 
on  a  dark  night  he  had  first  glimpsed  Marguerite.  Un- 
forgettable event !  Unlike  anything  else  that  had  ever 
happened  to  anybody !  .  .  .  He  heard  a  creak,  and 
caught  sight  through  the  letter-aperture  of  a  pair  of 
red  slippers,  and  then  the  lower  half  of  a  pair  of 
trousers,  descending  the  stairs.  And  he  dropped  the 
flap  hurriedly.  Mr.  Haim  was  coming  to  open  the 
door.  Mr.  Haim  did  open  the  door,  started  at  the 
apparition  of  George,  and  stood  defensively  and  for- 
biddingly in  the  very  centre  of  the  doorway. 

"  Oh ! "  said  George  nervously.  "  How  is  Mrs. 
Haim?" 

"  Mrs.  Haim  is  very  ill  indeed."  The  reply  was 
emphatic  and  inimical. 

"  I'm  sorry." 

Mr.  Haim  said  nothing  further.  George  had  not 
seen  him  since  the  previous  Saturday,  having  been  ex- 
cused by  Mr.  Enwright  from  the  office  on  Monday  on 
account  of  examination  work.  He  did  not  know  that 
Mr.  Haim  had  not  been  to  the  office  on  Monday  either. 
In  the  interval  the  man  had  shockingly  changed.  He 
seemed  much  older,  and  weaker  too ;  he  seemed  worn  out 
by  acute  anxiety.  Nevertheless  he  so  evidently  re- 
sented sympathy  that  George  was  not  sympathetic,  and 


THE  DINNER  143 

regarded  liim  coldly  as  a  tiresome  old  man.  The  official 
relations  between  the  two  had  been  rigorously  polite 
and  formal.  No  reference  had  ever  been  made  by  either 
to  the  quarrel  in  the  basement  or  to  the  cause  of  it. 
And  for  the  world  in  general  George's  engagement  had 
remained  as  secret  as  before.  Marguerite  had  not  seen 
her  father  in  the  long  interval,  and  George  had  seen 
only  the  factotum  of  Lucas  and  Enwright.  But  he  now 
saw  Marguerite's  father  again, —  a  quite  different  per- 
son from  the  factotum.  .  .  .  Strange,  how  the  house 
seemed  forlorn !  "  Something  about  a  baby,"  Agg  had 
said  vaguely.  And  it  was  as  though  something  that 
Mr.  Haim  and  his  wife  had  concealed  had  burst  from  its 
concealment  and  horrified  and  put  a  curse  on  the  whole 
Grove.  Something  not  at  all  nice!  What  in  the  name 
of  decent  propriety  was  that  slippered  old  man  doing 
with  a  baby?  George  would  not  picture  to  himself 
Mrs.  Haim  lying  upstairs.  He  did  not  care  to  think  of 
Marguerite  secretly  active  somewhere  in  one  of  those 
rooms.  But  she  was  there ;  she  was  initiated.  He  did 
not  criticise  her. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Marguerite,"  he  said  at  length. 
Despite  himself  he  had  a  guilty  feeling. 

"  My  daughter ! "  Mr.  Haim  took  up  the  heavy 
role. 

"  Only  for  a  minute,"  said  George,  boyishly,  and  irri- 
tated by  his  own  boyishness. 

"  You  can't  see  her,  sir." 

"  But  if  she  knows  I'm  here,  she'll  come  to  me," 
George  insisted.  He  saw  that  the  old  man's  hatred  of 
him  Avas  undiminished.  Indeed,  time  had  probably 
strengthened  it. 

"  You  can't  see  her,  sir.     This  is  my  house." 

George  considered  himself  infinitely  more  mature 
than  in  the  November  of  1901  when  the  old  man  had 


144  THE  ROLL-CALL 

worsted  him.  And  yet  he  was  no  more  equal  to  this 
situation  than  he  had  been  to  the  former  one. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do,  then.''  "  he  demanded,  not 
fiercely'  but  crossly. 

"What  are  you  to  do?  Don't  ask  me,  sir.  My 
wife  is  very  ill  indeed,  and  you  come  down  the  Grove 
making  noise  enough  to  wake  the  dead  — "  he  indicated 
the  motor-bicycle,  of  which  the  silencer  was  admittedly 
defective  — "  and  you  want  to  see  my  daughter.  My 
daughter  has  more  important  work  to  do  than  to  see 
you.  I  never  heard  of  such  callousness.  If  you  want 
to  communicate  with  my  daughter  you  had  better  write 
—  so  long  as  she  stays  in  this  house." 

Mr.  Haim  shut  the  door,  which  rendered  his  ad- 
vantage over  George  complete. 

From  the  Post  Office  nearly  opposite  the  end  of  the 
Grove  George  despatched  a  reply-paid  telegram  to 
Marguerite :  "  Where  and  when  can  I  see  j'ou  ? 
George.  Russell  Square."  It  seemed  a  feeble  retort 
to  Mr.  Haim,  but  he  could  think  of  nothing  better. 

On  the  way  up  town  he  suddenly  felt,  not  hungry,  but 
empty,  and  he  called  in  at  a  tea-shop.  He  was  the  only 
customer,  in  a  great  expanse  of  marble-topped  tables. 
He  sat  down  at  a  marble-topped  table.  On  the  marble- 
topped  table  next  to  him  were  twenty  four  sugar-basins, 
and  on  the  next  to  that  a  large  number  of  brass-bells, 
and  on  another  one  an  infinity  of  cruets.  A  very  slat- 
ternly woman  was  washing  the  linoleum  in  a  corner  of 
the  floor.  Two  thin  wrinkled  girls  in  shabby  black  were 
whispering  together  behind  the  counter.  The  cash- 
den  was  empty.  Through  the  open  door  he  could  keep 
an  eye  on  his  motor-bicycle,  which  was  being  surrep- 
titiously regarded  by  a  boy  theoretically  engaged  in 
cleaning  the  window.  A  big  van  drove  up,  and  a  man 
entered  with  pastry  on  a  wooden  tray  and  bantered  one 


THE  DINNER  14.5 

of  the  girls  in  black.  She  made  no  reply,  being  pre- 
occupied with  the  responsibility  of  counting  cakes. 
The  man  departed  and  the  van  disappeared.  Nobody 
took  the  least  notice  of  George.  He  might  have  been  a 
customer  invisible  and  inaudible.  After  the  fiasco  of 
his  interview  with  Mr.  Haim,  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
protest.  He  framed  withering  sentences  to  the  girls  in 
black,  such  as :  "  Is  this  place  supposed  to  be  open  for 
business,  or  isn't  it.?  "  but  they  were  not  uttered.  Then 
a  girl  in  black  with  a  plain  ugly  white  apron  and  a 
dowdy  white  cap  appeared  on  the  stairs  leading  from 
the  basement,  and  removed  for  her  passage  a  bar  of 
stained  wood  lettered  in  gilt :  "  Closed,"  and  she  halted 
at  George's  table.  She  spoke  no  word.  She  just  stood 
over  him,  unsmiling,  placid,  flaccid,  immensely  indiffer- 
ent. She  was  pale,  a  poor  sort  of  a  girl,  without  vig- 
our. But  she  had  a  decent,  honest  face.  She  was  not 
aware  that  she  ought  to  be  bright,  welcoming,  provoca- 
tive, for  a  penny  farthing  an  hour.  She  had  never 
heard  of  Hebe.  George  thought  of  the  long,  desolat- 
ing day  that  lay  before  her.  He  looked  at  her  seri- 
ously. His  eyes  did  not  challenge  her  as  they  were 
accustomed  to  challenge  Hebes.  He  said  in  a  friendly, 
matter-of-fact  tone: 

"  A  meat-pie,  please,  and  a  large  coffee." 

And  she  repeated  in  a  thin  voice: 

"  Meat  pie.     Large  coffee." 

A  minute  later  she  dropped  the  order  on  the  table,  as 
it  might  have  been  refuse,  and  with  it  a  bit  of  white 
paper.  The  sadness  of  the  city,  and  the  inexplicable 
sadness  of  June  mornings,  overwhelmed  George  as  he 
munched  at  the  meat-pie  and  drank  the  coffee,  and 
reached  over  for  the  sugar  and  reached  over  for  the 
mustard.     And  he  kept  saying  to  himself : 

"  She  doesn't  see  her  father  at  all  for  nearly  two 


146  THE  ROLL-CALL 

years,  and  then  she  goes  off  to  him  like  that  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  —  at  a  word." 

ui 

The  office  was  not  at  its  normal.  The  empty  cubicle 
of  the  factotum  looked  strange  enough.  But  there  was 
more  than  that  in  the  abnormality.  There  were  cur- 
rents of  excitement  in  the  office.  The  door  of  the  prin- 
cipals' room  was  open,  and  George  saw  John  Orgreave 
and  Everard  Lucas  within,  leaning  over  one  of  the  great 
flat  desks.  The  hour  was  early  for  Lucas,  and  self- 
satisfaction  was  on  Lucas's  face  as  he  raised  it  to  look 
at  the  entering  of  George. 

"  I  say,"  he  remarked  quietly  through  the  doorway, 
"  that  town  hall  scheme  is  on  again." 

"  Oh !  "  said  George,  depositing  his  hat  and  gloves 
and  strolling  into  the  principals'  room.  "  Good  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Orgreave.  Got  the  conditions  there.'*  "  For 
a  moment  his  attitude  of  interest  was  a  pose,  but  very 
quickly  it  became  sincere.  Astonishing  how  at  sight 
of  a  drawing-board  and  a  problem  he  could  forget  all 
that  lay  beyond  them  !  He  was  genuinely  and  extremely 
disturbed  by  the  course  of  affairs  at  Chelsea ;  neverthe- 
less he  now  approached  Mr.  Orgreave  and  Lucas  with 
eagerness,  and  Chelsea  slipped  away  into  another  di- 
mension. 

"  No,"  said  John  Orgreave,  "  the  conditions  aren't 
out  yet.      But  it's  all  right  this  time,  I  know  for  a  fact." 

The  offices  of  all  the  regular  architectural  competi- 
tors in  London  were  excited  that  morning.  For  the 
conception  of  the  northern  town  hall  was  a  vast  one. 
Indeed,  journalists  had  announced,  from  their  mysteri- 
ous founts  of  information,  that  the  town  hall  would  be 
the  largest  public  building  erected  in  England  during 
half   a   century.     The   scheme  had  been   the   sport   of 


THE  DINNER  147 

municipal  politics  for  many  months,  for  years.  Ap- 
parently it  could  not  get  itself  definitely  born.  And 
now  the  Town  Clerk's  wife  had  brought  about  the  august 
parturition.  It  is  true  that  her  agency  was  uninten- 
tional. The  Town  Clerk  had  belonged  to  a  powerful 
provincial  dynasty  of  town  clerks.  He  had  the  illusion 
that  without  him  a  great  town  would  cease  to  exist. 
There  was  nothing  uncommon  in  this  illusion,  which 
indeed  is  rife  among  town  clerks ;  but  the  Town  Clerk  in 
question  had  the  precious  faculty  of  being  able  to  com- 
municate it  to  mayors,  aldermen,  and  councillors.  He 
was  a  force  in  the  municipal  council.  Voteless  there,  he 
exercised  a  moral  influence  over  votes.  And  he  hap- 
pened to  be  opposed  to  the  scheme  for  the  new  town  hall. 
He  gave  various  admirable  reasons  for  the  postpone- 
ment of  the  scheme,  but  he  never  gave  the  true  reasons, 
even  to  himself.  The  true  reasons  were,  first  that  he 
hated  and  detested  the  idea  of  moving  office,  and  second 
that  he  wanted  acutely  to  be  able  to  say  in  the  fulness  of 
years  that  he  had  completed  half  a  century  of  municipal 
work  in  one  and  the  same  room.  If  the  pro-scheme 
party  had  had  the  wit  to  invent  a  pretext  for  allowing 
the  Town  Clerk  to  remain  in  the  old  municipal  build- 
ings, the  scheme  would  instantly  have  taken  life.  The 
Town  Clerk,  being  widowed,  had  consoled  himself  with 
a  young  second  wife.  This  girl  adored  dancing;  the 
Town  Clerk  adored  her ;  and  therefore  where  she  danced 
he  deemed  it  prudent  to  attend.  Driving  home  from  a 
January  ball  at  four  a.  m.  the  Town  Clerk  had  caught 
pneumonia.  In  a  week  he  was  dead,  and  his  dynasty 
with  him.  In  a  couple  of  months  the  pro-scheme  party 
had  carried  the  Council  off  its  feet.  Such  are  the  reali- 
ties, never  printed  in  newspapers,  of  municipal  politics 
in  the  grim  north. 

Sketches  of  the  site  had  appeared  in  the  architectural 


148  THE  ROLL-CALL 

press.  John  Orgreave  and  Lucas  were  pencilling  in 
turn  upon  one  of  these,  a  page  torn  out  of  a  weekly. 
George  inserted  himself  between  them,  roughly  towards 
Lucas  and  deferentially  towards  Mr.  John. 

"  But  you've  got  the  main  axis  wrong ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  How,  wrong?  "  John  Orgreave  demanded. 

"  See  here Give  me  the  pencil,  Looc." 

George  felt  with  a  little  thrill  of  satisfaction  the  re- 
spect for  him  which  underlay  John  Orgreave's  curt  tone 
of  a  principal  —  and  a  principal  from  the  Midlands. 
He  did  not  miss,  either,  Lucas's  quick,  obedient,  ex- 
pectant gesture  in  surrendering  the  pencil.  Ideas  for 
the  plan  of  the  building  sprang  up  multitudinously  in 
his  mind.  He  called;  they  came.  He  snatched  to- 
wards him  a  blank  sheet  of  tracing-paper,  and  scrawled 
it  over  with  significant  lines. 

"  That's  my  notion.  I  thought  of  it  long  ago,"  he 
said.     "  Or  if  you  prefer " 

The  other  two  were  imjiressed.  He  himself  was  im- 
pressed. His  notion,  which  he  was  modifying  and 
improving  every  moment,  seemed  to  him  perfect  and 
ever  more  perfect.  He  was  intensely  and  happily  stim- 
ulated in  the  act  of  creation;  and  they  were  all  three 
absorbed. 

"Why  hasn't  my  desk  been  arranged?"  said  a  dis- 
contented voice  behind  them.  Mr.  Enwright  had  ar- 
rived by  the  farther  door  from  the  corridor. 

Lucas  glanced  up. 

"  I  expect  Haim  hasn't  come  again  to-day,"  he 
answered,  urbanely,  placatingly. 

"  Why  hasn't  he  come?  " 

*'  I  hear  his  wife's  very  ill,"  said  George. 

"  Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  I  happened  to  be  round  that  way  this  morning," 


THE  DINNER  149 


(( 


Oh!     I  thought  all  was  over  between  you  two." 

George  flushed.  Nothing  had  ever  been  said  in  the 
office  as  to  his  relations  with  Haim,  though  it  was  of 
course  known  that  George  no  longer  lodged  with  the 
factotum.  Mr.  Enwright,  however,  often  had  discon- 
certing intuitions  concerning  matters  to  which  Mr.  Or- 
greave  and  Lucas  were  utterly  insensible. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  George  haltingly  murmured. 

«  Well,  this  is  all  very  well,  this  is !  "  Mr.  En- 
wright ruthlessly  proceeded,  beginning  to  marshal  the 
instruments  on  his  desk. 

He  had  been  a  somewhat  spectacular  martyr  for  some 
time  past.  A  mysterious  facial  neuralgia  had  harried 
his  nights  and  days.  For  the  greater  part  of  a  week 
he  had  dozed  in  an  armchair  in  the  office  under  the 
spell  of  eight  tabloids  of  aspirin  per  diem.  Then  a 
specialist  had  decided  that  seven  of  his  side  teeth,  al- 
ready studded  with  gold,  must  leave  him.  Those  teeth 
were  not  like  any  other  person's  teeth,  and  in  Mr.  En- 
wright's  mind  the  extracting  of  them  had  become  a 
major  operation,  as  for  example  the  taking  off  of  a 
limb.  He  had  spent  three  days  in  a  nursing  home  in 
Welbeck  Street.  His  life  was  now  saved,  and  he  was  a 
convalescent,  and  passed  several  hours  daily  in  giving 
to  friends  tragi-farcical  accounts  of  existence  in  a  nurs- 
ing home.  Mr.  Enwright's  career  was  one  unending 
romance. 

"  I  was  just  looking  at  that  town  hall  affair,"  said 
John  Orgreave. 

*'  ^\liat  town  hall  ?  "  his  partner  snapped. 

"  The  town  hall,"  answered  the  imperturbable  John. 

George  here  has  got  an  idea." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  Sir  Hugh  Corver  Bart  is  to 
be  the  assessor,"  said  Mr.  Enwright  in  a  devastating 
tone. 


a 


a 
it 


150  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Sir  Hugh  Corver,  formerly  a  mere  knight,  had  re- 
ceived a  baronetcy,  to  Mr.  Enwright's  deep  disgust. 
Mr.  Enwright  had  remarked  that  any  decent-minded 
man  who  had  been  a  husband  and  cliildless  for  twenty 
four  years  would  have  regarded  the  supplementary  hon- 
our as  an  insult,  but  that  Sir  Hugh  was  not  decent- 
minded  and  moreover  was  not  capable  of  knowing  an 
insult  when  he  got  one.  This  theory  of  Mr.  Enwright's, 
however,  did  not  a  bit  lessen  his  disgust. 

Oh,  yes,"  John  Orgreave  admitted  lamely. 
I  for  one  am  not  going  in  for  any  more  competi- 
tions with  Corver  as  assessor,"  said  Mr.  Enwright.     "  I 
won't  do  it." 

Faces  fell.  Mr.  Enwright  had  previously  published 
this  resolve,  but  it  had  not  been  taken  quite  seriously. 
It  was  entirely  serious.  Neuralgia  and  a  baronetcy 
had  given  it  the  consistency  of  steel. 

"  It  isn't  as  if  we  hadn't  got  plenty  of  work  in  the 
office,"  said  Mr.  Enwright. 

This  was  true.     The  firm  was  exceedingly  prosperous. 
Nobody  else  spoke. 

"  What  can  you  expect  from  a  fellow  like  Corver.'*  " 
Mr.  Enwright  cried,  with  a  special  glance  at  George. 
"  He's  the  upas  tree  of  decent  architecture." 

George's  mood  changed  immediately.  Profound  dis- 
couragement succeeded  to  his  creative  stimulation.  Mr. 
Enwright  had  reason  on  his  side.  What  could  you 
expect  from  a  fellow  like  Corver?  With  all  the  ardour 
of  a  disciple  George  dismissed  the  town  hall  scheme,  and 
simultaneously  his  private  woes  surged  up  and  took 
full  possession  of  him.  He  walked  silently  out  of  the 
room,  and  Lucas  followed.  As  a  fact,  Mr.  Enwright 
ought  not  to  have  talked  in  such  a  way  before  the  pupils. 
A  question  of  general  policy  should  first  have  been  dis- 
cussed in  private  between  the  partners,  and  the  result 


THE  DINNER  151 

then  formally  announced  to  the  staff.  Mr.  Enwright 
was  not  treating  his  partner  with  proper  consideration. 
But  Mr.  Enwright,  as  every  one  said  at  intervals,  was 
"  like  that  " ;  and  his  partnev  did  not  seem  to  care 
greatly. 

Lucas  shut  the  door  between  the  principals'  room  and 
the  pupils'  room. 

"  I  say,"  said  Lucas  importantly.  "  I've  got  a  show 
on  to-night.  Women.  Cafe  Royal.  I  want  a  fourth. 
You  must  come.'* 

"  Yes,"  sneered  George.  "  And  what  about  my  exam, 
I  should  like  to  know.  .  .  .  Besides,  I  can't." 

The  Final  was  due  to  begin  on  Thursday. 

"  That's  all  right,"  Lucas  answered,  with  tact. 
"  That's  all  right.  I'd  thought  of  the  exam  of  course. 
You'll  have  to-morrow  to  recover.  It'll  do  you  all  the 
good  in  the  world.  And  you  know  you're  more  than 
ready  for  the  thing.  You  don't  want  to  be  over- 
trained, my  son.  Besides,  you'll  sail  through  it.  As 
for  '  can't,'  *  can't '  be  damned.     You've  got  to." 

A  telegraph  boj^  after  hesitating  at  the  empty  cu- 
bicle, came  straight  into  the  room. 

"  Name  of  Cannon." 

George  nodded,  trembling. 

The  telegram  read :  "  Impossible  to-day.  Mar- 
guerite." 

It  was  an  incredible  telegram,  as  much  by  what  it 
said,  as  by  what  it  didn't  say.     It  overthrew  George. 

"  Seven  forty-five,  and  I'll  drive  you  round,"  said 
Lucas. 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  George. 

Immediately  afterwards  Mr.  Enwright  summoned 
Lucas. 


152  THE  ROLL-CALL 


IV 

The  two  young  men  of  fashion  were  silent  that  even- 
ing as  they  drove  to  the  Cafe  Royal  in  the  car  which 
Lucas   loosely    called   "  my   car,"   but   which   was   his 
mother's  and  only  to  be  obtained  by  him  upon  his  own 
conditions  after  delicate  diplomacies.     The  chief  of  his 
conditions  was  that  the  chauffeur  should  not  accompany 
the  car.     Lucas,   having  been   engaged   upon  outdoor 
work  for  the  firm,  had  not  seen  George  throughout  the 
day.     Further,  he  was  late  in  calling  for  George,  and 
therefore  rather  exacerbated  in  secret;  and  if  George 
had  not  been  ready  and  waiting  for  him  at  the  club 
trouble    might    have    arisen.     George    understood    his 
host's   mood   and   respected    it.      Lucas   drove   rapidly 
and  fiercely,  with  appropriate  frowns  and  settings  of 
cruel  teeth  ;  his  mien  indeed  had  the  arrogance  of  the 
performer  who,  having  given  only  a  fraction  of  his  time 
to  the  acquirement  of  skill,  reckons  that  he  can  beat  the 
professional    who    has    given    the    whole    of    his    time. 
Lucas's  glances  at  chauffeurs  who  hindered  his  swift- 
ness were  masterpieces  of  high  disdain,  and  he  would 
accelerate,    after    circumventing    them,    with    positive 
ferocity. 

George  himself,  an  implacable  critic,  could  not  find 
fault  with  the  technique  of  Lucas's  driving.  But  ex- 
acerbation tells,  even  in  the  young,  and  at  Piccadilly 
Circus  Lucas,  in  obeying  a  too-suddenly  uplifted  hand 
of  a  policeman,  stopped  his  engine.  The  situation, 
horribly  humiliating  for  Lucas  and  also  for  George, 
provided  pleasure  for  half  the  chauffeurs  and  drivers  in 
Piccadilly  Circus,  and  was  the  origin  of  much  jocular- 
ity of  a  kind  then  fairly  new.  Lucas  cursed  the  inno- 
cent engine,  and  George  leapt  down  to  wield  the  crank. 
But   the   engine,   apparently   resenting  curses,   refused 


THE  DINNER  153 

to  start  again.  No,  it  would  not  start.  Lucas  leapt 
down,  too.  "  Get  out  of  the  way,"  he  muttered  sav- 
agely to  George,  and  scowled  at  the  bonnet  as  if 
saying  to  the  engine :  "  I'm  not  going  to  stand  any 
of  your  infernal  nonsense !  "  But  still  the  engine  re- 
fused to  start. 

The  situation,  humiliating  before,  was  now  appalling. 
Two  entirely  correct  young  gentlemen,  in  evening  dress 
with  light  overcoats  and  opera  hats,  struggling  with  a 
refractory  car  that  in  its  obstinacy  was  far  more  digni- 
fied than  themselves, —  and  the  car  obstructing  traffic 
at  the  very  centre  of  the  world  in  the  very  hour  when 
the  elect  of  Britain  were  driving  by  on  the  way  to 
"  Tristan  "  at  the  Opera !  Sebastians  both,  they  were 
martyrised  by  the  poisoned  arrows  of  vulgar  wit,  shot  at 
them  from  all  sides  and  especially  from  the  lofty  thrones 
of  hansom-cab  drivers.  The  policeman  ordered  them  to 
shove  the  car  to  the  kerb,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  boy 
and  the  policeman  himself  they  did  so,  opposite  the 
shuttered  front  of  Swan  and  Edgar's. 

The  two  experts  then  examined  the  engine  in  a  pro- 
fessional manner ;  they  did  everything  but  take  it  down ; 
they  tried  in  vain  all  known  devices  to  conquer  the  recal- 
citrancy of  engines ;  and  when  they  had  reached  despair 
and  fury  George,  startlingly  visited  by  an  idea,  de- 
manded : 

"Any  petrol  in  the  tank?  .  .  ." 

In  those  days  men  of  fashion  were  apt  to  forget,  at 
moments  of  crises,  that  the  first  necessity  of  the  engine 
was  petrol.  George  behaved  magnanimously.  He 
might  have  extinguished  Lucas  with  a  single  inflection 
as  Lucas,  shamed  to  the  uttermost,  poured  a  spare  half- 
tin  of  petrol  into  the  tank.     He  refrained. 

In  one  minute,  in  less  than  one  minute,  they  were  at 
the  side  entrance  to  the  Cafe  Royal,  which  less  than  a 


154  THE  ROLL-CALL 

minute  earlier  had  been  inconceivably  distant  and  un- 
attainable. Lucas  dashed  first  into  the  restaurant. 
To  keep  ladies  waiting  in  a  public  place  was  for  him 
the  very  worst  crime,  surpassing  in  turpitude  arson, 
embezzlement,  and  the  murder  of  innocents.  The  ladies 
must  have  been  waiting  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  half 
an  hour !     His  reputation  was  destroyed ! 

However,  the  ladies  had  not  arrived. 

"  That's  all  right,"  Lucas  breathed,  at  ease  at  last. 
The  terrible  scowl  had  vanished  from  his  face,  which 
was  perfectly  re-composed  into  its  urbane,  bland  charm. 

"  Now  perhaps  you'll  inform  me  who  they  are,  old 
man,"  George  suggested,  relinquishing  his  overcoat  to 
a  flunkey,  and  following  Lucas  into  the  cloister  set  apart 
for  the  cleansing  of  hands  which  have  meddled  with 
machinery. 

"The  Wheeler  woman  is  one, —  didn't  I  tell  you?'* 
Lucas  answered,  unsuccessfully  concealing  his  pride. 

"Wheeler?" 

"  Irene  Wheeler.     You  know." 

George  was  really  impressed.  Lucas  had  hitherto 
said  no  word  as  to  his  acquaintance  with  this  celebrated 
woman.  It  was  true  that  recently  Lucas  had  been 
spreading  himself  in  various  ways  —  he  had  even  passed 
his  Intermediate  —  but  George  had  not  anticipated  such 
a  height  of  achievement  as  the  feat  of  entertaining  at  a 
restaurant  a  cynosure  like  Irene  Wheeler.  George  had 
expected  quite  another  sort  of  company  at  dinner,  for 
he  had  publicly  dined  with  Lucas  before.  All  day  he 
had  been  abstracted,  listless,  and  utterly  desolate.  All 
day  he  had  gone  over  again  and  again  the  details  of  the 
interview  with  Mr.  Haim,  his  telegram  to  Marguerite 
and  her  unspeakable  telegram  to  him,  hugging  close  a 
terrific  grievance.  Only  from  pique  against  Marguerite 
had  he  accepted  Lucas's  invitation.     The  adventure  in 


THE  DINNER  155 

Piccadilly  Circus  had  somewhat  enlivened  him,  and  now 
the  fluttering  prospect  of  acquaintance  with  the  legend- 
ary Irene  Wheeler  pushed  Marguerite  into  the  back- 
ground of  his  mind,  and  excitement  became  quite 
pleasant. 

"  And  a  Miss  Ingram,"  Lucas  added. 

"Not  Lois  Ingram?"  exclaimed  George,  suddenly 
dragging  the  names  of  Ingram  and  Wheeler  out  of  the 
same  drawer  of  his  memory. 

"  No.  Laurencine.  But  she  has  a  sister  named  Lois. 
V'STiat  do  you  know  about  her?"  Lucas  spoke  chal- 
lengingly,  as  if  George  had  trespassed  on  preserves 
sacred  to  himself  alone.  He  had  not  yet  admitted  that 
it  was  merely  Mrs.  John  Orgreave  who  had  put  him  in 
the  way  of  Irene  Wheeler. 

George  was  surprised  and  shocked  that  it  had  never 
occurred  to  him  to  identify  Lois  Ingram's  wealthy 
friend  Miss  Wheeler  with  the  Irene  Wheeler  of  society 
columns  of  newspapers.  And  Lois  Ingram  rose  in  his 
esteem,  not  because  of  the  distinction  of  her  friend,  but 
because  she  had  laid  no  boastful  stress  on  the  distinction 
of  her  friend. 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  he  said,  "  I  told  you  once 
about  a  girl  who  jolly  nearly  got  me  into  a  motor  acci- 
dent all  through  her  fancying  herself  as  a  chauffeur. 
That  was  Lois  Ingram.  Paris  girl.  Same  lot,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Oh  !  Was  that  Lois  ?  "  Lucas  murmured.  "  Well, 
Pm  dashed !  " 

They  returned  in  a  hurry  to  the  entrance-hall,  fearful 
lest  the  ladies  might  have  arrived.  However,  the  ladies 
had  not  arrived.  Lucas  had  the  inexpressible  satis- 
faction of  finding  in  an  illustrated  weekly  a  full-page 
portrait  of  Miss  Irene  Wheeler. 

"  Here  you  are! "  he  ejaculated,  with  an  air  of  use. 


156  THE  ROLL-CALL 

as  though  he  was  habitually  picking  up  from  the  tables 
of  fashionable  restaurants  high-class  illustrated  papers 
containing  portraits  of  renowned  beauties  to  whom  he 
said  "  Come !  "  and  they  came.  It  was  a  great  moment 
for  Lucas. 

Ten  n)inutes  later  the  ladies  very  calmly  arrived, 
seeming  perfectly  unaware  that  they  were  three  quar- 
ters of  an  hour  behind  time.  Lucas  felt  that,  much 
as  he  already  knew  about  life,  he  had  learned  something 
fresh. 

To  George  Irene  Wheeler  was  not  immediately  recog- 
nisable as  the  original  of  her  portrait.  He  saw  the 
resemblance  when  he  looked  for  it,  but  if  after  seeing 
the  photograph  he  had  met  the  woman  in  the  street  he 
would  have  passed  her  by  unknowing.  At  first  he  was 
disappointed  in  her.  He  had  never  before  encountered 
celebrated  people  —  except  architects,  who  Enwright 
always  said  never  could  be  really  celebrated  —  and  he 
had  to  learn  that  celebrated  people  seldom  differ  in 
appearance  from  uncelebrated  people.  Nevertheless  it 
was  not  to  be  expected  that  George  should  escape  where 
the  most  experienced  and  the  most  wary  of  two  capitals 
had  not  escaped.  He  did  not  agree  that  she  was  beauti- 
ful, but  her  complexion  enthralled  him.  He  had  never 
seen  such  a  complexion ;  nobody  had  ever  seen  such  a 
complexion.  It  combined  extremely  marvellous  whites 
and  extremely  marvellous  pinks,  and  the  skin  had  the 
exquisite,  incredible  softness  of  a  baby's.  Next  he  was 
struck  by  her  candid,  ingenuous,  enquiring  gaze,  and 
by  her  thin  voice  with  the  slight  occasional  lisp.  The 
splendid  magnificence  of  her  frock  and  jewels  came  in- 
to play  later.  Lastly  her  demeanour  imposed  itself. 
That  simple  gaze  showed  not  the  slightest  diffidence, 
scarcely  even  modesty ;  it  was  more  brazen  than  effront- 
ery.    She  preceded  the  other  three  into  the  restaurant, 


THE  DINNER  167 

where  electricity  had  finally  conquered  the  expiring 
daylight,  and  her  entry  obviously  excited  the  whole 
room ;  yet,  guided  by  two  waving  and  fawning  waiters, 
and  a  hundred  glances  upon  her,  she  walked  to  the  ap- 
pointed table  without  a  trace  of  self-consciousness, —  as 
naturally  as  a  policeman  down  a  street.  When  she  sat 
down,  George  on  her  right,  Lucas  on  her  left,  and  the 
tall,  virginal  Laurencine  Ingram  opposite,  she  was  the 
principal  person  in  the  restaurant.  George  had  al- 
ready passed  from  disappointment  to  an  impressed 
nervousness.  The  inquisitive  diners  might  all  have 
been  quizzing  him  instead  of  Irene  Wheeler.  He  envied 
Lucas ;  who  was  talking  freely  to  both  Miss  Wheeler  and 
Laurencine  about  what  he  had  ordered  for  dinner. 
That  morning  over  a  drawing-board  and  an  architec- 
tural problem,  Lucas  had  been  humble  enough  to  George, 
and  George  by  natural  right  had  laid  the  law  down  to 
Lucas,  but  now  Lucas,  who  George  was  obliged  to  admit 
never  said  anything  brilliant  or  original,  was  outshin- 
ing him.  ...  It  was  unquestionable  that  in  getting 
Irene  Wheeler  to  dinner,  Lucas,  by  some  mysterious 
talent  which  he  possessed,  had  performed  a  feat  greater 
even  than  George  had  at  first  imagined, —  a  prodigious 
feat. 

George  waited  for  Irene  Wheeler  to  begin  to  talk. 
She  did  not  begin  to  talk.  She  was  content  with  the 
grand  function  of  existing.  Lucas  showed  her  the 
portrait  in  the  illustrated  paper,  which  he  had  kept. 
She  said  it  was  comparatively  an  old  one  and  had  been 
taken  at  the  Durbar  in  January.  "  Were  you  at  the 
Durbar?  "  asked  the  simpleton  George.  Irene  Wheeler 
looked  at  him.  "  Yes.  I  was  in  the  Viceroy's  house- 
party,"  she  answered  mildly.  And  then  she  said  to 
Lucas  that  she  had  sat  three  times  to  photographers 
that  week  — "  They  won't  leave  me  alone  "—  but  that 


158  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  proofs  were  none  of  them  satisfactory.  At  this 
Laurencine  Ingrain  boldly  and  blushingly  protested, 
maintaining  that  one  of  them  was  lovely.  George  was 
attracted  to  Laurencine,  in  whom  he  saw  no  likeness 
to  her  sister  Lois.  She  could  not  long  have  left  school. 
She  was  the  product  finished  for  the  world:  she  had 
been  taught  everything  that  was  considered  desirable, 
—  even  to  the  art  of  talking  easily  and  yet  virginally 
on  all  subjects  at  table;  and  she  was  a  nice,  honest, 
handsome  girl,  entirely  unspoilt  by  the  mysterious 
operations  practised  upon  her.  She  related  how  she 
had  been  present  when  a  famous  photographer  ar- 
rived at  Miss  Wheeler's  flat  with  his  apparatus,  and 
what  the  famous  photographer  had  said.  The  boys 
laughed.  Miss  Wheeler  smiled  faintly.  "  I'm  glad  we 
didn't  have  to  go  to  that  play  to-night,"  she  remarked, 
quitting  photography.  "  However,  I  shall  have  to  go 
to-morrow  night.  And  I  don't  care  for  first  nights  in 
London,  only  they  will  have  me  go.'*  In  this  last 
phrase,  and  in  the  intonation  of  it,  was  the  first  sign 
she  had  given  of  her  American  origin ;  her  speech  was 
usually  indistinguishable  from  English  English,  which 
language  she  had  in  fact  carefully  acquired  years  ear- 
lier. George  gathered  that  Lucas's  success  in  getting 
Miss  Wheeler  to  dinner  was  due  to  the  accident  of  a 
first  night  being  postponed  at  the  last  moment  and 
Miss  Wheeler  thus  finding  lierself  with  an  empty  even- 
ing. He  covertly  examined  her.  Why  was  the  feat  of 
getting  Miss  Wheeler  to  dinner  so  enormous?  Why 
would  photographers  not  leave  her  alone?  Why  would 
theatrical  managers  have  her  accept  boxes  gratis  which 
they  could  sell  for  money?  Why  was  she  asked  to  join 
the  Viceregal  party  for  the  Durbar?  Why  was  the  res- 
taurant agog?  Why  was  he  himself  proud  and  flat- 
tered —  yes,  proud  and  flattered  —  to  be  seen  at  the 


THE  DINNER  159 

same  table  with  her  ?  .  .  .  She  was  excessively  rich ;  no 
doubt ;  she  was  reputed  to  be  the  niece  of  a  railway  man 
in  Indianapolis  who  was  one  of  the  major  rivals  of  Har- 
riman.  She  dressed  superbly,  perhaps  too  superbly. 
But  there  were  innumerable  rich  and  well-dressed  women 
on  earth.  After  all,  she  put  her  gold  bag  and  her 
gloves  down  on  the  table  with  just  the  same  gesture  as 
other  women  did;  and  little  big  Laurencine  had  a  gold 
bag  too.  She  was  not  witty.  He  questioned  whether 
she  was  essentially  kind.  She  was  not  young;  her  age 
was  an  enigma.  She  had  not  a  remarkable  figure,  nor 
unforgettable  hair,  nor  incendiary  eyes.  She  seemed 
too  placid  and  self-centred  for  love.  If  she  had  loved, 
it  must  have  been  as  she  sat  to  photographers  or  occu- 
pied boxes  on  first  nights, —  because  "  they  "  would 
have  it  so.  George  was  baffled  to  discover  the  origin 
of  her  prestige.  He  had  to  seek  it  in  her  complexion. 
Her  complexion  was  indubitably  miraculous.  He  en- 
joyed looking  at  it,  though  he  lacked  the  experience  to 
know  that  he  was  looking  at  a  complexion  held  by  con- 
noisseurs who  do  naught  else  but  look  at  complexions  to 
be  a  complexion  unique  in  Europe.  George,  unsophis- 
ticated, thought  that  the  unaffected  simplicity  —  far 
exceeding  self-confidence  —  with  which  she  acquiesced  in 
her  prestige  was  perhaps  more  miraculous  than  her 
complexion.     It  staggered  him. 

The  dinner  was  a  social  success.  Irene  ^Mieeler  lis- 
tened adroitly,  if  without  brilliance,  and  after  one  glass 
of  wine  George  found  himself  quite  able  to  talk  in  the 
Enwright  manner  about  architecture  and  the  profes- 
sion of  architecture,  and  also  to  talk  about  automobiles. 
The  casualness  with  which  he  mentioned  his  Final  Exam- 
ination was  superb, —  the  examiners  might  have  been 
respectfully  waiting  for  him  to  arrive  and  discomfit 
them.     But  of  course  the  main  subject  was  automobiles. 


160  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Even  Laurencine  knew  the  names  of  all  the  leading 
makers,  and  when  the  names  of  all  the  leading  makers 
had  been  enumerated  and  their  products  discussed,  the 
party  seemed  to  think  that  it  had  accomplished  some- 
thing that  was  both  necessary  and  stylish.  When  the 
table-cloth  had  been  renewed,  and  the  solemn  moment 
came  for  Everard  Lucas  to  order  liqueurs,  George  felt 
almost  ga}^  He  glanced  round  the  gilded  and  mirrored 
apartment,  now  alluringly  animated  by  the  subdued  yet 
vivacious  intimacies  of  a  score  of  white  tables,  and  de- 
cided that  the  institution  of  restaurants  was  a  laudable 
and  agreeable  institution.  Marguerite  had  receded 
farther  than  ever  into  the  background  of  his  mind ;  and 
as  for  the  Final,  it  had  diminished  to  a  formality. 

"  And  you?  "  Everard  asked  Laurencine,  after  Miss 
Wheeler. 

George  had  thought  that  Laurencine  was  too  young 
for  liqueurs.  She  had  had  no  wine.  He  expected  her 
to  say  "  Nothing,  thanks,"  as  conventionally  as  if  her 
late  head-mistress  had  been  present.  But  she  hesitated, 
smiling,  and  then,  obedient  to  the  profound  and  univer- 
sal instinct  which  seems  to  guide  all  young  women  to 
the  same  liqueur,  she  said : 

"  May  I  have  a  creme  de  menthe?  I've  never  had 
creme  de  menthe.** 

George  was  certainly  shocked  for  an  instant.  But 
no  one  else  appeared  to  be  shocked.  Miss  Wheeler,  in 
charge  of  Laurencine,  offered  no  protest.  And  then 
George  reflected :  "  And  why  not  ?  Why  shouldn't  she 
have  a  creme  de  menthe?  "  When  Laurencine  raised 
the  tiny  glass  to  her  firm,  large  mouth,  George  thought 
that  the  sight  of  the  young  virginal  thing  tasting  a 
liqueur  was  a  fine  and  a  beautiful  sight. 

"  It's  just  heavenly!  "  murmured  Laurencine  ecstat- 
ically. 


THE  DINNER  161 

Miss  Wheeler  was  gazing  at  George. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  demanded,  smiling,  and 
rested  one  elbow  on  the  table  and  looked  enigmatically 
through  the  smoke  of  his  cigar. 

"  I  was  just  wondering  about  you,"  said  Miss 
Wheeler.  Her  voice,  always  faint,  had  dropped  to  a 
murmur  which  seemed  to  expire  as  it  reached  George's 
ear. 

"  Why  ?  "     He  was  flattered. 

"  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you." 

"  Really !  "  he  laughed,  rather  too  loudly.  "  What  a 
pity  I  didn't  know  earlier."  He  was  disturbed  as  well 
as  flattered,  for  such  a  remark  from  such  a  person  as 
Irene  Wheeler  to  such  a  person  as  himself  was  bound 
to  be  disturbing.  His  eyes  sought  audaciously  to  com- 
mune with  hers,  but  hers  were  not  responsive ;  they  were 
entirely  non-committal. 

"  You  are  the  man  that  wouldn't  let  my  friend  Lois 
drive  him  in  my  car,  aren't  you.''  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  defianth%  but  rather  guiltily.  "  Did 
she  tell  you  about  that .''  It's  an  awful  long  time  ago." 
She  told  me  something  about  it." 
And  you've  remembered  it  all  this  long  while !  " 
Yes,"  she  answered,  and  her  thin  queer  tone  and  her 
tepid  impartial  glance  had  the  eff^ect  of  a  challenge  to 
him  to  justify  himself. 

"  And  don't  you  think  I  was  quite  right.''  "  he  ven- 
tured. 

"  She  drives  very  well." 

It  was  not  the  sort  of  answer  he  was  expecting.  His 
desire  was  to  argue. 

"  She  didn't  drive  very  well  then,"  he  said  with  con- 
viction. 

"  Was  that  a  reason  for  your  leaving  her  to  drive 
home  alone .''  " 


a 


a 


162  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Women  were  astounding! 

"  She  ought  to  have  let  the  chauffeur  drive,"  he 
maintained. 

"  Ah !  A  man  mustn't  expect  too  much  from  a 
woman." 

"  But  I  was  risking  my  life  in  that  car !  Do  jou 
mean  to  say  I  ought  to  have  kept  on  risking  it?  " 

"  I  don't  express  any  opinion  on  that.  That  was 
for  vou  to  decide.  .  .  .  You  must  admit  it  was  very 
humiliating  for  poor  Lois." 

He  felt  himself  cornered,  but  whether  justly  or  un- 
justly- he  was  uncertain. 

"  Was  she  vexed?  " 

"  No,  she  wasn't  vexed.  Lois  isn't  the  woman  to  be 
vexed.     But  I  have  an  idea  she  was  a  little  hurt." 

"  Did  she  say  so?  " 

"  Say  so?  Lois.'*  She'd  never  say  anything  against 
anybody.  Lois  is  a  perfect  angel.  .  .  .  Isn't  she,  Lau- 
rencine?  " 

Laurcncine  was  being  monopolised  by  Everard. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  the  girl  asked,  collecting  her- 
self. 

"  I  was  just  saying  what  an  angel  Lois  is." 

"Oh!  She  is!"  the  younger  sister  agreed  with  im- 
mense and  sincere  emphasis. 

George,  startled,  said  to  himself  suddenly : 

"Was  I  mistaken  in  her?  Some  girls  3'ou  are  mis- 
taken in !  They're  regular  bricks,  but  they  keep  it 
from  you  at  first." 

Somehow,  in  spite  of  a  slight  superficial  mortification, 
he  was  very  pleased  by  the  episode  of  the  conversation, 
and  his  curiosity  was  titillated. 

"  Lois  would  have  come  to-night  instead  of  Lauren- 
cine,"  Miss  Wheeler  went  on,  "  only  she  wasn't  feeling 
very  well." 


THE  DINNER  163 

N 

"  Is  she  in  London  ?  I've  only  seen  her  once  from 
that  day  to  this,  and  then  we  didn't  get  near  each  other 
owing  to  the  crush.  So  we  didn't  speak.  It  was  at 
Mrs.  Orgreave's." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"Did  she  tell  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  she  at  your  flat.'*  " 

"  Yes.     But  she's  not  well." 

*'  Not  in  bed,  I  hope,  or  anything  like  that.'*  " 

"  Oh,  no !     She's  not  in  bed." 

Laurencine  threw  laughingly  across  the  table: 

"  She's  as  well  as  I  am." 

It  was  another  aspect  of  the  younger  sister. 

When  they  left  the  restaurant  it  was  nearly  empty. 
They  left  easily,  slowly,  magnificently.  The  largesse 
of  Everard  Lucas  —  his  hat  slightlj^  raked  —  in  the 
foyer  and  at  the  portico  was  magnificent  in  both  quan- 
tity' and  manner.  There  was  no  need  to  hurry ;  the 
hour,  though  late  for  the  end  of  dinner,  was  early  for 
separation.  They  moved  and  talked  without  the  slight- 
est diffidence,  familiar  and  confident ;  the  whole  world 
was  reformed  and  improved  for  them  by  the  stimulus  of 
food  and  alcohol.  The  night  was  sultry  and  dark. 
The  two  women  threw  their  cloaks  back  from  their 
shoulders,  revealing  the  whiteness  of  toilettes.  At  the 
door  the  headlights  of  Miss  Wheeler's  automobile  shot 
horizontally  right  across  Regent  Street.  The  chauf- 
feur recognised  George,  and  George  recognised  the  car ; 
he  was  rather  surprised  that  Miss  Wheeler  had  not  had 
a  new  car  in  eighteen  months.  Lucas  spoke  of  his  own 
car  which  lay  beyond  in  the  middle  of  the  side  street 
like  a  ship  at  anchor.  He  spoke  in  such  a  strain  that 
Miss  Wheeler  deigned  to  ask  him  to  drive  her  home  in 
it.     The  two  3'oung  men  went  to  light  the  headlights. 


164  THE  ROLL-CALL 

George  noticed  the  angry  scowl  on  Everard's  face  when 
three  matches  had  been  blown  out  in  the  capricious 
breeze.  The  success  of  the  fourth  match  restored  his 
face  to  perfect  benignit}^  He  made  the  engine  roar 
triumphantly,  imperiously  sounded  his  horn,  plunged 
forward  and  drew  the  car  up  in  front  of  Miss  Wheeler's. 
His  bliss,  when  Miss  Wheeler  had  delicately  inserted 
herself  into  the  space  by  his  side,  was  stern  and  yet 
radiant.  The  big  car,  with  George  and  Laurencine  on 
board,  followed  the  little  one  like  a  cat  following  a 
mouse,  and  Laurencine  girlishly  interested  herself  in 
the  chase. 

George,  with  his  mind  on  Lois,  kept  saying  to 
himself:  "  She's  been  thinking  about  that  little  affair 
ever  since  last  November  but  one.  They've  all  been 
thinking  about  it."  He  felt  apprehensive,  but  his  sat- 
isfaction amounted  to  excitement.  His  attitude  was: 
"  At  any  rate  I  gave  them  something  to  think  about." 
Also  he  breathed  appreciatively  the  atmosphere  of  the 
three  women  —  two  seen  and  one  unseen.  How  extraor- 
dinarily different  all  of  them  were  from  Aggl  They 
reminded  him  acutely  of  his  deep  need  of  luxury.  Af- 
ter all,  the  life  lived  by  those  two  men  about  town, 
George  and  Everard,  was  rather  humdrum  and  monot- 
onous. In  spite  of  Everard's  dash,  and  in  spite  of 
George's  secret  engagement,  neither  of  tliem  met  enough 
women  or  enough  sorts  of  women.  George  said  to  him- 
self: "I  shall  see  her  to-night.  We  shall  go  up  to 
the  flat.      She  isn't  in  bed.      I  shall  see  her  to-night." 

He  wanted  to  see  her  because  he  had  hurt  her  and  be- 
cause she  had  remembered  and  had  talked  about  him  and 
had  raised  curiosity  about  him  in  others.  Was  she 
really  unwell?  Or  had  she  been  excusing  herself? 
Was  she  an  angel?     He  wanted  to  see  her  again  in 


THE  DINNER  165 

order  to  judge  for  himself  whether  she  was  an  angel. 
If  Laurencine  said  she  was  an  angel  she  must  be  an 
angel.  Laurencine  was  a  jolly,  honest  girl.  To  be  in 
the  car  with  her  was  agreeable.  But  she  was  insipid. 
So  he  assessed  the  splendidly  budding  Laurencine,  pat- 
ronising her  a  little.  Miss  Wheeler  gave  him  pause. 
Her  simple  phrases  had  mysterious  intonations.  He 
did  not  understand  her  glance.  He  could  not  settle 
the  first  question  about  her, —  her  age.  She  might  be 
very  wicked ;  certainly  she  could  be  very  ruthless.  And 
he  had  no  hold  over  her.  He  could  give  her  nothing 
that  she  wanted.     He  doubted  whether  any  man  could. 

"  Have  you  been  in  London  long?  "  he  asked  Lau- 
rencine. 

"  A  week,"  she  said.  "  I  came  over  with  Miss 
Wheeler.  I  didn't  think  mother  would  let  me,  but  she 
did." 

"  And  did  your  sister  come  with  you  ?  " 

"  No.     Lois  only  came  yesterday." 

"By  herself.^"  ^ 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  go  about  a    lot  ?  " 

"  Oh !     We  do.     It's  such  a  change  from  Paris." 

"  Well,  I  should  prefer  Paris." 

"  You  wouldn't !  London's  much  more  romantic. 
Paris  is  so  hard  and  matter-of-fact." 

"  So's  London." 

She  squirmed  about  lissomly  on  the  seat. 

"  You  don't  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said.  "  I  never 
can  make  people  see  what  I  mean  —  about  anything." 

He  smiled  indulgently  and  dropped  the  point. 

"  Miss  Wheeler  taken  you  to  Mrs.  Orgreave's  yet.?  '* 

"  Yes.     We  were  there  on  Saturday  afternoon." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Orgreave.'*  " 


166  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Oh !  She's  very  nice,"  Laurencine  answered  with 
polite  tepidity,  and  added  eager!}' :  "  Mr.  Orgreave's  a 
dear." 

George  was  glad  that  she  had  not  been  enthusiastic 
about  jNIrs.  Orgreave.  Her  reserve  showed  that  she 
could  discriminate.  Ecstasy  was  not  altogether  a 
habit.  If  she  said  that  Lois  was  an  angel,  Lois  prob- 
ably was  an  angel. 

The  cars  stopped  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  block  of  ma- 
sonry in  a  vast  leafy  square.  George  suddenly  became 
very  nervous.  He  thought :  *'  I  shall  be  seeing  her  in  a 
minute." 

Then,  as  he  got  out  of  the  car,  he  heard  Miss  Wheeler 
saying  to  Lucas : 

"  Well,  good  night.  And  thanlc  you  so  much.  It's 
been  most  delightful.  .  .  .  We  expect  you  soon,  of 
course." 

She  actuallj'  was  not  asking  them  to  go  up !  George 
•was  excessively  disappointed.  He  watched  IVIiss 
Wheeler  and  Laurencine  disappear  into  the  rich  and 
guarded  interior  with  envy,  as  though  they  had  en- 
tered a  delectable  paradise  to  which  he  could  not  as- 
pire; and  the  fact  that  Miss  Wheeler  had  vaguely  in- 
vited him  to  call  did  not  brighten  him  very  much.  He 
had  assumed  that  he  would  see  Lois  the  angel  that  night. 


The  young  men  finished  the  evening  at  Pickering's. 
Pickering's  was  George's  club.  George  considered, 
rightly,  that  in  the  matter  of  his  club  he  had  had  great 
luck.  Pickering's  was  a  small  club,  and  it  had  had 
vicissitudes.  Most  men  whose  worldly  education  had 
been  completed  in  St.  James's  were  familiar  with  its 
historical  name,  but  few  could  say  offhand  where  it 
was.     Its  address  was  Candle  Court,  and  Candle  Court 


THE  DINNER  167 

lay  at  the  end  of  Candle  Alley  (a  very  short  passage) 
between  Duke  Street  and  Ryder  Street.  The  Court 
was  in  fact  a  tiny  square  of  several  houses,  chiefly  used 
by  traders  and  agents  of  respectability  —  as  respecta- 
bility is  understood  in  St.  James's ;  it  had  a  lamp  post 
of  its  own.  The  report  ran,  and  was  beheved  by  per- 
sons entitled  to  an  opinion,  that  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton had  for  some  years  hidden  there  the  lovely  desire  of 
his  heart  from  an  inquisitive  West  End.  Pickering's 
had  of  course  originally  been  a  coffee-house;  later,  like 
many  other  coffee-houses  in  the  neighbourhood,  it  had 
developed  into  a  proprietary  club.  Misfortunes  due 
to  the  caprices  of  taste  and  to  competition  had  brought 
about  an  arrangement  by  which  the  ownership  was 
vested  in  a  representative  committee.  The  misfortunes 
had  continued,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  century  a 
crisis  was  reached  and  Pickering's  tried  hard  to  popu- 
larise itself,  thereby  doing  violence  to  its  feelings. 
Rules  were  abated,  and  the  entrance  fee  fell.  It  was  in 
this  period  that  Everard  Lucas,  whose  ears  were  always 
open  for  useful  items,  heard  of  it  and  suggested  it  to 
George.  George  wanted  to  join  Lucas's  club,  which 
was  in  St.  James's  Street  itself,  but  Lucas  wisely 
pointed  out  that  if  they  belonged  to  different  clubs  each 
would  in  practice  have  two  clubs.  Moreover,  he  said 
that  George  might  conceivably  get  a  permanent  bed- 
room there.  The  first  sight  of  the  prim,  picturesque 
square,  the  first  liint  of  the  scandal  about  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  decided  George.  It  was  impossible  for  a 
man  about  town  to  refuse  the  chance  of  belonging  to 
a  club  in  a  Court  where  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had 
committed  follies. 

George  was  proposed,  seconded,  and  duly  elected, 
together  with  other  new  blood.  Some  of  the  old  blood 
naturally    objected,    but    the    feud    was    never    acute. 


168  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Solely  owing  to  the  impression  which  his  young  face 
made  on  the  powerful  and  aged  hall-porter,  George  ob- 
tained a  bedroom.  It  was  small,  and  at  the  top  of  the 
house;  but  it  was  cheap,  it  solved  the  even  more  tire- 
some and  uncomfortable  problem  of  lodging;  and  fur- 
ther it  was  a  bedroom  at  Pickering's,  and  George  could 
say  that  he  lived  at  his  club, —  an  imposing  social  ad- 
vantage. He  soon  learnt  how  to  employ  the  resources 
of  the  club  for  his  own  utmost  benefit.  Nobody  could 
surpass  him  in  choosing  a  meal  inexpensively.  He  could 
have  his  breakfast  in  his  bedroom  for  tenpence,  or  even 
sixpence  when  his  appetite  was  poor.  He  was  well 
served  by  a  valet  who  apparently  passed  his  whole  life 
on  stairs  and  landings.  This  valet,  courteous  rather  in 
the  style  of  old  Haim,  had  a  brain  just  equal  to  the 
problems  presented  by  his  vocation.  Every  morning 
George  would  say :  "  Now,  Downs,  how  soon  can  I  have 
my  bath?  "  or  "  Now,  Downs,  what  can  I  have  for  break- 
fast?" And  Downs  would  conscientiously  cerebrate 
and  come  forth  after  some  seconds  with  sound  solutions, 
such  as :  "  I'll  see  if  I  can  put  you  in  before  Mr.  de 
Gales  if  you're  in  a  hurry,  sir,"  or  "  Scrambled  eggs, 
sir, —  it'll  make  a  bit  of  a  change."  And  when  George 
agreed.  Downs  would  exhibit  a  restrained  but  real  satis- 
faction. Yes,  George  had  been  very  lucky.  The  club 
too  was  lucky.  The  oldest  member,  who  being  paralysed 
had  not  visited  the  club  for  eleven  years,  died  and  be- 
queathed ten  thousand  pounds  to  the  institution  where 
he  had  happily  played  cards  for  several  decades.  Pick- 
ering's was  refurnished,  and  the  stringency  of  its  rules 
re-established.  The  right  wing  of  the  Committee  wished 
that  the  oldest  member  could  have  managed  to  die  a  year 
or  two  earlier  and  so  have  obviated  the  crisis.  It  was 
recognised,  however,  by  the  more  reasonable  that  you 
cannot  have  everything  in  this  world. 


THE  DINNER  169 

Pickering's  was  very  dull ;  but  it  was  still  Pickering's. 
George  was  often  bored  at  Pickering's.  He  soon 
reached  the  stage  at  which  a  club  member  asserts  gloom- 
ily that  the  club  cookery  is  simply  damnable.  Never- 
theless he  would  have  been  desolated  to  leave  Picker- 
ing's. The  place  was  useful  to  him  in  another  respect 
than  the  purely  material.  He  learnt  there  the  code 
which  governs  the  familiar  relations  of  men  about 
town. 

On  the  night  of  the  Cafe  Royal  dinner,  George  and 
Lucas  reclined  in  two  easy-chairs  in  the  inner  smoking- 
room  of  Pickering's.  They  were  alone.  Through  the 
wide  archway  that  marked  the  division  between  the  inner 
and  the  outer  smoking-rooms  they  could  see  one  solitary 
old  gentleman  dozing  in  an  attitude  of  abandonment,  a 
magazine  on  his  knees.  Ash-trays  were  full  of  ash  and 
cigarette  ends  and  matches.  Newspapers  were  scat- 
tered around,  some  folded  inside  out,  some  not  folded, 
some  whose  component  sheets  had  been  divided  forever 
like  the  members  of  a  ruined  family.  The  windows  were 
open ;  and  one  gave  a  view  of  the  Court's  watchful  lamp- 
post, and  the  other  of  the  house  —  now  occupied  by  an 
art  dealer  and  a  commission  agent  —  where  the  Duke 
had  known  both  illusion  and  disillusion.  The  delicate 
sound  of  the  collision  of  billiard-balls  came  from  some- 
where, and  the  rat-tatting  of  a  tape-machine  from  some- 
where else.  The  two  friends  had  arrived  at  the  condi- 
tion of  absolute  wisdom  and  sagacity  and  tolerance 
which  is  apt  to  be  achieved  at  a  late  hour  in  clubs  by 
young  and  old  men  who  have  discussed  at  length  the 
phenomena  of  society. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  toddling,"  said  Lucas,  yawning  as 
he  looked  idly  at  the  coloured  horses  on  each  wall  who 
were  forever  passing  winning-posts  or  soaring  over  bull- 
finches or  throwing  riders  into  brooks. 


ITO  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Here !  Hold  on ! "  George  protested.  "  It's 
early." 

"Is  it?" 

They  began  again  to  smoke  and  talk. 

"  Nice  little  thing,  what's-her-name !  What's  her 
funny  name?  "  George  murmured. 

"  Laurencine,  do  you  mean?     Yes." 

Lucas  spoke  coldly,  with  a  careful  indifference. 
George,  to  whom  insight  had  not  been  denied,  under- 
stood tiiat  Everard  did  not  altogether  care  for  Lauren- 
cine  to  be  referred  to  as  a  little  thing,  that  he  had  ren- 
dered Laurencine  sacred  by  his  secret  approval. 

"  I  say,"  said  George,  sitting  up  slightly,  and  increas- 
ing the  intimacy  of  his  tone.  "  Devilish  odd,  wasn't  it, 
that  the  Wheeler  woman  didn't  ask  us  up?  " 

Hitherto  they  had  avoided  this  question  in  their  pro- 
found gossip.  It  had  lain  between  them  untouched,  like 
a  substance  possibly  dangerous  and  explosive.  Yet 
they  could  not  have  parted  without  touching  it,  and 
George,  with  characteristic  moral  courage  or  rashness, 
had  touched  it  first.  Lucas  was  of  a  mind  to  reply  suc- 
cinctly that  the  Wheeler  woman's  conduct  was  not  a  bit 
devilish  odd.  But  sincerity  won.  The  dismissal  at  the 
entrance  to  the  Mansions  had  affected  him  somewhat 
deeply.  It  had  impaired  the  perfection  of  his  most  not- 
able triumph.  The  temptation  to  release  his  feelings 
was  too  strong. 

"  Well,  if  you  ask  me,"  he  answered,  "  it  was." 

After  a  little  pause  he  went  on : 

"  Especially  seeing  that  she  practically  asked  me  to 
ask  them  to  dinner."  His  nice  features  loosened  to  dis- 
satisfaction. 

"  The  deuce  she  did  !  " 

"  Yes  !  Practically  asked  me  !  Anyhow  gave  me  the 
tip.     What  can  you  do?  "     He  implied  that,  far  from 


THE  DINNER  171 

deriving  unique  and  unhoped-for  glory  from  the  conde- 
scension of  Irene  Wheeler  in  consenting  to  dine  with  him, 
he  had  conferred  a  favour  on  her  by  his  invitation.  He 
implied  that  brilliant  women  all  over  London  competed 
for  his  invitations.  His  manner  was  entirely  serious ; 
it  probably  deceived  even  himself.  George's  manner 
corresponded,  instinctively,  chivalrously ;  but  George 
was  not  deceived  —  at  any  rate  in  the  subconscious 
depth  of  his  mind. 

"  Exactly  !  "  murmured  George. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucas.  *'  She  said :  '  I  could  bring 
Laurencine  with  me,  if  you  can  get  another  man.  That 
would  make  a  four.'  She  said  she  wanted  to  wake 
Laurencine  up." 

"  Did  you  tell  her  you  should  ask  me?  "  George  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Oh !     She  seemed  to  know  all  about  you,  my  boy." 

"  Well,  but  she  couldn't  know  all  about  me,"  said 
Goerge  insincerely. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  know  then,  she  suggested  I 
should  ask  you." 

"  But  she'd  never  seen  me !  " 

"  She's  heard  of  you.     Mrs.  Orgreave,  I  expect." 

"  Odd !  .  .  .  Odd ! "  George  now  pretended  to  be 
academically'  assessing  an  announcement  that  had  no 
intrinsic  interest  for  him.  In  reality,  he  was  greatly 
excited. 

"  Well,  you  know  what  those  sort  of  women  are ! " 
Lucas  summed  up  wisely,  as  if  referring  to  truths  of 
knowledge  common  among  men  of  their  kidney. 

"  Oh,  of  course !  " 

The  magazine  slid  from  the  knees  of  the  sleeper. 
The  sleeper  snorted  and  woke  up.  The  spell  was 
broken. 

Lucas  rose  suddenly. 


172  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  By-bye !  "  He  was  giving  an  ultimatum  as  to  his 
departure. 

George  rose  also,  but  slowly. 

"  All  that  doesn't  explain  why  she  didn't  ask  us  up," 
said  he. 

But  in  his  heart  he  thought  he  knew  why  Miss 
Wheeler  hadn't  asked  them  up.  The  reason  was  that 
she  maliciously  wanted  to  tantalise  him,  George.  She 
had  roused  his  curiosity  about  Lois,  and  then  she  had 
said  to  herself :  "  You  think  you're  going  to  see  her 
to-night,  but  you  just  aren't."  Such,  according  to 
George,  was  Irene  Wheeler  the  illustrious.  He  reflected 
on  the  exasperating  aff'air  until  he  had  undressed  and 
got  into  bed.  But  as  soon  as  he  had  put  out  the  light 
Marguerite  appeared  before  him,  and  at  the  back  of  her 
were  the  examiners  for  the  Final.     He  slept  ill. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    RUPTURE 


During  the  whole  of  the  next  day  George  waited  for 
a  letter  from  Marguerite.  There  was  nothing  at  the 
Club  by  the  first  post ;  he  went  to  the  office,  hoping  that 
as  he  had  addressed  his  telegram  from  Russell  Square 
she  might  have  written  to  Russell  Square;  there  was 
nothing  at  Russell  Square.  At  lunch-time  no  word  had 
arrived  at  the  Club;  when  the  office  closed  no  word  had 
arrived  at  the  office ;  the  last  post  brought  nothing  to 
the  Club.  He  might  have  sent  another  telegram  to 
Alexandra  Grove,  but  he  was  too  proud  to  do  so.  He 
dined  alone  and  most  miserably  at  the  Club.  Inspired 
by  unhappiness  and  resentment,  he  resolved  to  go  to 
bed ;  in  bed,  he  might  read  himself  to  sleep.  But  in  the 
hall  of  the  Club  his  feet  faltered.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
sight  of  hats  and  sticks  that  made  him  vacillate,  or  a 
glimpse  of  reluctantly-d^nng  silver  in  the  firmament  over 
Candle  Court.  He  wavered ;  he  stood  still  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  The  next  moment  he  was  in  the  street. 
He  had  decided  to  call  on  Agg  at  the  studio,  -^gg 
might  have  the  clue  to  Marguerite's  astounding  conduct, 
though  he  had  it  not.  He  took  a  hansom,  after  saying 
he  would  walk  ;  he  was  too  impatient  for  walking.  Pos- 
sibly Marguerite  would  be  at  the  studio ;  possibly  a 
letter  of  hers  had  miscarried  ;  letters  did  miscarry.  He 
was  in  a  state  of  peculiar  excitement  as  he  paid  the 
cabman, —  an  enigma  to  himself. 

173 


174  THE  ROLL-CALL 

The  studio  was  quite  dark.  Other  studios  showed 
lights,  but  not  Agg's.  From  one  studio  came  the  sound 
of  a  mandolin  —  he  thought  it  was  a  mandolin  —  and 
the  sound  seemed  pathetic,  tragic,  to  his  ears.  Agg  was 
perhaps  in  bed ;  he  might  safely  arouse  her ;  she  would 
not  object.  But  no!  He  would  not  do  that.  Pride, 
again !  It  would  be  too  humiliating  for  him,  the 
affianced,  to  have  to  ask  Agg:  "I  say,  do  you  know 
anything  about  Marguerite?  "  The  affianced  ought  to 
be  the  leading  authority  as  to  the  doings  of  Marguerite. 
He  turned  away,  walked  a  little,  and  perceived  the  cab- 
man swinging  himself  cautiously  down  from  his  perch  in 
order  to  enter  a  public-house.  He  turned  back.  Mar- 
guerite too  might  be  in  bed  at  the  studio.  Or  the  girls 
might  be  sitting  in  the  dark  talking, —  a  habit  of  theirs. 
.  .  .  Fanciful  suppositions  !  At  any  rate  he  would  not 
knock  at  the  door  of  the  studio,  would  not  even  enter 
the  alley  again.  What  carried  him  into  the  Fulham 
Road  and  westwards  as  far  as  the  Workhouse  tower 
and  the  corner  of  Alexandra  Grove?  Feet!  But 
surely  the  feet  of  another  person,  over  which  he  had  no 
control !  He  went  in  the  lamplit  dimness  of  Alexandra 
Grove  like  a  thief;  he  crept  into  it.  The  silver  had  not 
yet  died  out  of  the  sky  ;  he  could  see  it  across  the  spaces 
between  the  dark  houses ;  it  was  sad  in  exactly  the  same 
way  as  the  sound  of  the  mandolin  had  been  sad. 

What  did  he  mean  to  do  in  the  Grove?  Nothing! 
He  was  just  walking  in  it  by  chance.  He  could  indeed 
do  nothing.  For  if  he  rang  at  No.  8  old  Haim  would 
again  confront  him  in  the  portico.  He  passed  by  No.  8, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  No  light  showed,  ex- 
cept a  very  dim  glow  through  the  blind  of  the  basement 
window  to  the  left  of  the  front-door.  Those  feet  be- 
neath him  strolled  across  the  road.  The  basement  win- 
dow was  wide  open.      The  blind  being  narrower  than  the 


THE  RUrTURE  175 

window-frame,  he  could  see,  through  the  railings,  into 
the  room  within.  He  saw  Marguerite.  She  was  sit- 
ting, in  an  uncomfortable  posture,  in  the  rather  high- 
seated  armchair  in  which  formerly,  when  the  room  was 
her  studio,  she  used  to  sit  at  her  work.  Her  head  had 
dropped  on  one  shoulder.  She  was  asleep.  On  the 
table  a  candle  burned.  His  heart  behaved  strangely. 
He  flushed.  All  his  flesh  tingled.  The  gate  creaked 
horribly  as  he  tiptoed  into  the  patch  of  garden.  He 
leaned  over  the  little  chasm  between  the  level  of  the 
garden  and  the  window,  and  supported  himself  with  a 
hand  on  the  lower  sash.  He  pushed  the  blind  sideways 
with  the  other  hand. 

"  Marguerite !  "  in  a  whisper.  Then  louder : 
"  Marguerite !  " 

She  did  not  stir.  She  was  in  a  deep  sleep.  Her 
hands  hung  limp.  Her  face  was  very  pale  and  very 
fatigued.  She  liberated  the  same  sadness  as  the  sound 
of  the  mandolin  and  the  gleam  of  silver  in  the  June  sky, 
but  it  was  far  more  poignant.  At  the  spectacle  of  those 
weary  and  unconscious  features  and  of  the  soft  bodily 
form,  George's  resentment  was  annihilated.  He  won- 
dered at  his  resentment.  He  was  aware  of  nothing  in 
himself  but  Avarm,  protective  love.  Tenderness  surged 
out  from  the  impenetrable  secrecy  of  his  heart,  filled 
him,  overflowed,  and  floated  in  waves  towards  the  sleeper. 
In  the  intense  sadness,  and  in  the  uncertainty  of  events, 
he  was  happy. 

An  older  man  might  have  paused,  but  without  hesi- 
tancy George  put  his  foot  on  the  window-sill,  pushed 
down  the  window  further,  and  clambered  into  the  room 
in  which  he  had  first  seen  Marguerite.  His  hat,  press- 
ing backward  the  blind,  fell  off  and  bounced  its  hard 
felt  on  the  floor,  which  at  the  edges  was  uncarpeted. 
The  noise  of  the  hat  and  the  general  stir  of  George's 


176  THE  ROLL-CALL 

infraction  disturbed  Marguerite,  who  awoke  and  looked 
up.  The  melancholy  which  she  was  exhaling  suddenly 
vanished.  Her  steady  composure  in  the  alarm  delighted 
George. 

"  Couldn't  wake  you,"  he  murmured  lightly.  It  was 
part  of  his  Five  Towns  upbringing  to  conceal  excite- 
ment.    "  Saw  you  through  the  window." 

"  Oh !     George !     Was  I  asleep  ?  " 

Pleasure  shone  on  her  face.  He  deposited  his  stick 
and  sprang  to  her.  He  sat  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 
He  bent  her  head  back  and  examined  her  face.  He 
sat  on  her  knee  and  held  her.  She  did  not  kiss ;  she  was 
kissed ;  he  liked  that.     Her  fatigue  was  adorable. 

"  I  came  here  for  something,  and  I  just  sat  down  for 
a  second  because  I  was  so  tired,  and  I  must  have  gone 
right  off.  ...  No !     No !  " 

The  admonishing  negative  was  to  stop  him  from  get- 
ting up  off  her  knee.  She  was  exhausted,  yet  she  had 
vast  resources  of  strength  to  bear  him  on  her  knee.  She 
was  wearing  her  oldest  frock.  It  was  shabby.  But  it 
exquisitely  suited  her  then.  It  was  the  frock  of  her 
capability,  of  her  great  labours,  of  her  vigil,  of  her 
fatigue.  It  covered,  but  did  not  hide,  her  beautiful  con- 
tours. He  thought  she  was  marvellously  beautiful  — 
and  very  young,  far  younger  than  himself.  As  for  him, 
he  was  the  dandy,  in  striking  contrast  to  her.  His 
dandyism  as  he  sat  on  her  knee  pleased  both  of  them. 
He  looked  older  than  his  years,  his  shoulders  had  broad- 
ened, his  dark  moustache  thickened.  In  his  own  view 
he  was  utterly  adult,  as  she  was  in  hers.  But  their 
young  faces  so  close  together,  so  confident,  were  touch- 
ingly  immature.  As  he  observed  her  grave  satisfaction 
at  his  presence,  the  comfort  which  he  gave  her,  he  felt 
sure  of  her,  and  the  memory  of  his  just  resentment 
came  to  him,  and  he  was  tenderly  reproachful. 


THE  RUPTURE  177 

**  I  expected  to  hear  from  you,"  he  said.     The  male  in 
him  relished  the  delicate  accusation  of  his  tone. 

Marguerite  answered  with  a  little  startled  intake  of 
breath : 

"  She's  dead  !  " 

"Dead?" 

"  She  died  this  afternoon.  The  layer-out  left  about 
half  an  hour  ago," 

Death  parted  them.  He  rose  from  her  knee,  and 
Marguerite  did  not  try  to  prevent  him.  He  was  pro- 
foundly shocked.  With  desolating  vividness  he  recalled 
the  Sunday  afternoon  when  he  had  carried  upstairs  the 
plump,  living  woman  now  dead.  He  had  always  liked 
Mrs.  Lob, —  it  was  as  Mrs.  Lob  that  he  thought  of  her. 
He  had  seen  not  much  of  her.  Only  on  that  Sunday 
afternoon  had  he  and  she  reached  a  sort  of  intimacy  — 
unspoken  but  real.  He  had  liked  her.  He  had  even 
admired  her.  She  was  no  ordinary  being.  And  he  had 
sympathised  with  her  for  Marguerite's  quite  explicable 
defection.  He  had  often  wished  that  those  two,  the 
charwoman  and  his  beloved,  could  somehow  have  been 
brought  together.  The  menaces  of  death  had  brought 
them  together.  Mrs.  Lob  was  laid  out  in  the  bedroom 
which  he  had  once  entered.  Mrs.  Lob  had  been  dying 
while  he  dined  richly  with  Miss  Wheeler  and  Laurencine, 
and  while  he  talked  cynically  with  Everard  Lucas.  And 
while  he  had  been  resenting  Marguerite's  neglect  Mar- 
guerite was  watching  by  the  dying  bed.  Oh!  The 
despicable  superficialities  of  restaurants  and  clubs !  He 
was  ashamed.  The  mere  receding  shadow  of  death 
shamed  him. 

"  The  baby's  dead  too,  of  course,"  Marguerite  added. 
"  She  ought  never  to  have  had  a  baby.  It  seems  she 
had  had  two  miscarriages." 

There  were  tears  in  Marguerite's  eyes   and  in  her 


178  THE  ROLL-CALL 

voice.  Nevertheless  her  tone  was  rather  matter-of-fact 
as  she  related  these  recondite  and  sinister  things. 
George  thought  that  women  were  very  strange.  Imag- 
ine Marguerite  quietly  talking  to  him  in  this  strain ! 
Then  the  sense  of  the  formidable  secrets  that  lie  hidden 
in  the  history  of  families,  and  the  sense  of  the  conti- 
nuity of  individual  destinies,  overwhelmed  him.  There 
was  silence. 

"  And  your  exam  begins  to-morrow,"  whispered  the 
astonishing  Marguerite. 

"  Where's  the  old  gentleman  ?  " 

"  He's  sitting  in  the  parlour  in  the  dark." 

It  was  a  terrible  house:  they  two  intimidated  and 
mournful  in  the  basement ;  the  widower  solitary  on  the 
ground-floor ;  the  dead  bodies,  the  wastage  and  futility 
of  conception  and  long  bearing,  up  in  the  bedroom. 
And  in  all  the  house  the  light  of  one  candle !  George 
suddenly  noticed,  then,  that  Marguerite  was  not  wearing 
the  thin,  delicate  ring  which  he  had  long  ago  given  her. 
Had  she  removed  it  because  of  her  manual  duties?  He 
wanted  to  ask  the  question,  but,  even  unspoken,  it  seemed 
too  trivial  for  the  hour.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  shuffling  sound  beyond  the  door,  and  a 
groping  on  the  outer  face  of  the  door.  Marguerite 
jumped  up.  Mr.  Haim  stumbled  into  the  room.  He 
had  incredibly  aged ;  he  looked  incredibly  feeble.  But 
as  he  pointed  a  finger  at  George  he  was  in  a  fury  of 
anger,  and  his  anger  was  senile,  ridiculous,  awful. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  voices,"  he  said,  half-squeaking. 
*'  How  did  you  get  in?  You  didn't  come  in  by  the  door. 
Out  of  my  house.  My  wife  lying  dead  upstai-rs,  and 
you  choose  this  night  to  break  in !  "  He  was  implacable 
against  George,  absolutely ;  and  George  recoiled. 

The  opening  of  the  door  had  created  a  draught  in 


THE  RUPTURE  179 

which  the  candle-flame  trembled,  and  the  shadow  of  the 
old  man  trembled  on  the  door. 

"You'd  better  go.  I'll  write.  I'll  write,"  Mar- 
guerite murmured  to  George  very  calmly,  very  gently, 
very  persuasively.  She  stood  between  the  two  men. 
Her  manner  was  perfect.  It  eternally  impressed  itself 
on  George.     "  Father,  come  and  sit  down." 

The  old  man  obeyed  her.  So  did  George.  He 
snatched  his  hat  and  stick.  By  the  familiar  stone  steps 
of  the  basement,  and  along  the  familiar  hall,  he  felt  his 
way  to  the  door,  turned  the  familiar  knob,  and  de- 
parted. 

n 

The  examination  began  the  next  day.     Despite  his 
preoccupation    about    Marguerite,    George's    perform- 
ances during  the  first  days  were  quite  satisfactory  to 
himself.     Indeed,  after  a  few  minutes  in  the  examina- 
tion-room, after  the  preliminary  critical  assessing  of  the 
difficulty  of  the  problems  in  design,  and  the  questions, 
and  of  his  ability  to  deal  with  them,  George  successfully 
forgot  everything  except  the  great  seven-day  duel  be- 
tween the  self-constituted  autocratic  authorities  backed 
by  prestige  and  force,  and  the  aspirants  who  had  naught 
but  their  wits  to  help  them.     He  was  neither  a  son,  nor 
a  friend,  nor  a  lover ;  he  ceased  to  have  human  ties ;  he 
had  become  an  examinee.     Marguerite  wrote  him  two 
short  letters  which  were  perfect,  save  that  he  always  re- 
garded her  handwriting  as  a  little  too  clerical,  too  like 
her  father's.     She  made  no  reference  whatever  to  the 
scene  in  the  basement-room.      She  said  that  she  could 
not  easily  arrange  to  see  him  immediately,  and  that  for 
the  sake  of  his  exam  he  ought  not  to  be  distracted.     She 
would  have  seen  him  on  the  Saturday,  but  on  Saturday 
George  learnt  that  her  father  was  a  little  unwell  and  re- 


180  THE  ROLL-CALL 

quired,  even  if  he  did  not  need,  constant  attention.  The 
funeral,  unduly  late,  occurred  by  Mr.  Haim's  special 
desire  on  the  Sunday,  most  of  which  day  George  spent 
with  Everard  Lucas.  On  the  Monday  he  had  a  ren- 
dezvous at  eight  o'clock  with  Marguerite  at  the  studio. 

She  opened  the  door  herself;  and  her  welcome  was 
divine.  Her  gestures  spoke,  delicate,  and  yet  robust  in 
their  candour.     But  she  was  in  deep  mourning. 

"  Oh !  "  he  said,  holding  her.  "  You're  wearing 
black,  then." 

"  Of  course !  "  she  answered  sweetly.  "  You  see  I  had 
to  be  there  all  through  the  funeral.  And  father  would 
have  been  frightfully  shocked  if  I  hadn't  been  in  black 
—  naturally." 

"  Of  course !  "  he  agreed.  It  was  ridiculous  that  he 
should  be  surprised  and  somewhat  aggrieved  to  find  her 
in  mourning;  still,  he  was  surprised  and  somewhat 
aggrieved. 

"  Besides "  she  added  vaguely. 

And  that  "  besides  "  disquieted  him,  and  confirmed  his 
grievance.  Why  should  she  wear  mourning  for  a  woman 
to  whom  she  was  not  related,  whom  she  had  known 
simpl}^  as  a  charwoman,  and  who  had  forced  her  to  leave 
her  father's  house.'*  There  was  no  tie  between  Mar- 
guerite and  her  stepmother.  George,  for  his  part,  had 
liked  the  dead  woman,  but  Marguerite  had  not  even 
liked  her.  No,  she  was  not  wearing  black  in  honour  of 
the  dead,  but  to  humour  the  living.  And  why  should 
her  father  be  humoured.'*  George  privately  admitted 
the  unreasonableness,  the  unsoundness,  of  these  consid- 
erations —  obviously  mourning  wear  was  imperative  for 
Marguerite  —  nevertheless  they  were  present  in  his 
mind. 

"  That  frock's  a  bit  tight,  but  it  suits  you,"  he  said, 
advancing  with  her  into  the  studio. 


THE  RUPTURE  181 

"  It's  an  old  one,"  she  smiled. 

"An  old  one?" 

"  It's  one  I  had  for  mother." 

He  had  forgotten  that  she  had  had  a  mother,  that  she 
had  known  what  grief  was,  only  a  very  few  years  earlier. 
He  resented  these  bereavements  and  the  atmosphere 
which  they  disengaged.  He  wanted  a  different  atmos- 
phere. 

"  Is  the  exam  really  all  right  ?  "  she  appealed  to  him, 
taking  both  his  hands  and  leaning  against  him  and 
looking  up  into  his  face. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  in  my  letter?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  The  exam  is  as  right  as  rain." 

"  I  knew  it  would  be." 

"  You  didn't,"  he  laughed.  He  imitated  her :  "  '  Is 
the  exam  really  all  right?'"  She  just  smiled.  He 
went  on  confidently :  "  Of  course  you  never  know  your 
luck,  you  know.  There's  the  viva  to-morrow.  .  .  . 
Where's  old  Agg?  " 

"  She's  gone  home." 

"Thoughtful  child!     How  soon  will  she  be  back?" 

"  About  nine,"  said  Marguerite,  apparently  unaware 
that  George  was  being  funny. 

"  Nine !  "  ' 

"  Oh,  George ! "  Marguerite  exclaimed,  breaking 
away  from  him.  "  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  must  get  on 
with  my  packing." 

"What  packmg?" 

"  I  have  to  take  my  things  home." 

"What  home?" 

"  Father's,  I  mean." 

She  was  going  back  to  live  with  her  father  who 
would  not  willingly  allow  him,  George,  to  enter  the 
house !     How  astounding  girls  were !     She  had  written 


182  THE  ROLL-CALL 

to  him  twice  without  giving  the  least  hint  of  her  resolve. 
He  had  to  learn  it  as  it  were  incidentally,  through  the 
urgency  of  packing.  She  did  not  tell  him  she  was  going, 
—  she  said  she  must  get  on  with  her  packing !  And 
there,  lying  on  the  floor,  was  on  open  trunk;  and  two 
of  her  drawing-boards  already  had  string  round  them. 

George  enquired : 

"  How  is  the  old  man  —  to-day  ?  " 

"  He's  very  nervy,"  said  Marguerite  briefly  and  sig- 
nificantly. "  I'd  better  light  the  lamp,  I  shall  see  bet- 
ter." She  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  herself.  She  stood 
on  a  chair  and  lifted  the  chimney  off^  the  central  lamp. 
George  absently  passed  her  his  box  of  matches. 

As  she  was  replacing  the  chimney,  he  said  suddenly 
in  a  very  resolute  tone : 

"  This  is  all  very  well.  Marguerite.  But  it's  going  to 
be  jolly  awkward  for  me." 

She  jumped  lightly  down  from  the  chair,  like  a  little 
girl. 

"Oh!  George!  I  know!"  she  cried.  "It  will  be 
awkward  for  both  of  us.  But  we  shall  arrange  some- 
thing." She  might  have  resented  his  tone.  She  might 
have  impulsively  defended  herself.  But  she  did  not. 
She  accepted  his  attitude  with  unreserved  benevolence. 
Her  gaze  was  marvellously  sympathetic. 

"  I  can't  make  out  what  your  father's  got  against 
me,"  said  George  angrily,  building  his  vexation  on  her 
benevolence.  "  What  have  I  done,  I  should  like  to 
know." 

"  It's  simply  because  you  lived  there  all  that  time 
without  him  knowing  we  were  engaged.  He  says  if  he'd 
known  he  would  never  have  let  you  stay  there  a  day.'* 
She  smiled,  mournfully,  forgivingly,  excusingly. 

"  But  it's  preposterous  !  " 

"Oh!     It  is." 


THE  RUPTURE  183 

"  And  how  does  he  behave  to  you^  Is  he  treating 
you  decently  ?  " 

"  Oh !  Fairly.  You  see  he's  got  a  lot  to  get  over. 
And  he's  most  frightfully  upset  about  —  his  wife. 
Well,  you  saw  him  yourself,  didn't  you?  " 

"  That's  no  reason  why  he  should  treat  you  badly." 

"  But  he  doesn't,  George !  " 

"  Oh !  I  know !  I  know !  Do  you  think  I  don't 
know.  He's  not  even  decent  to  you.  I  can  see  it  in 
your  voice.  Why  should  you  go  back  and  live  with 
him  if  he  isn't  prepared  to  appreciate  it.?  " 

"  But  he  expects  it,  George.  And  what  am  I  to  do.'' 
He's  all  alone.     I  can't  leave  him  all  alone,  can  I.''  " 

George  burst  out : 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Marguerite.  You're  too  good- 
natured.  That's  what  it  is.  You're  too  good-natured. 
And  it's  a  very  bad  thing." 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes ;  she  could  not  control  them. 
She  was  grieved  by  his  remark. 

"  I'm  not,  George,  trul3\  You  must  remember 
father's  been  through  a  lot  this  last  week.      So  have  I." 

"  I  admit  all  that.  But  you're  too  good-natured,  and 
I'll  stick  to  it." 

She  was  smiling  again. 

"  You  only  think  that  because  you're  fond  of  me. 
Nobody  else  would  say  it,  and  I'm  not.  Help  me  to  lift 
this  trunk  on  to  the  chest." 

While  the  daylight  withdrew,  and  the  smell  of  the 
lamp  strengthened  and  then  faded,  and  the  shadows  cast 
by  the  lamp-rays  grew  blacker,  she  went  on  rapidly  with 
her  packing,  he  serving  her  at  intervals.  They  said 
little.  His  lower  lip  fell  lower  and  lower.  The  evening 
was  immensely,  horribly  different  from  what  he  had  ex- 
pected and  hoped  for.  He  felt  once  more  the  inescap- 
able grip  of  destiny  fastening  upon  him. 


184.  THE  ROLL-CALL 


« 


Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry?  "  he  asked,  after  a 
long  time. 

"  I  told  father  I  should  be  back  at  a  quarter  past 


*      j> 
nine. 


This  statement  threw  George  into  a  condition  of  total 
dark  disgust.  He  made  no  remark.  But  what  remarks 
he  could  have  made, —  sarcastic,  bitter,  unanswerable ! 
Why  indeed  in  the  name  of  heaven  should  she  promise 
her  father  to  be  back  at  a  quarter  past  nine,  or  at  a 
quarter  past  anything?  Was  she  a  servant?  Had  she 
no  rights?     Had  he  himself,  George,  no  rights? 

A  little  before  nine  Agg  arrived.  Marguerite  was 
fastening  the  trunk. 

"  Now  be  sure,  Agg,"  said  Marguerite.  "  Don't  for- 
get to  hang  out  the  Carter  Paterson  card  at  the  end  of 
the  alley  to-morrow  morning.  I  must  have  these  things 
at  home  to-morrow  night  for  certain.  The  labels  are 
on.     And  here's  twopence  for  the  man." 

"  Do  I  forget?  "  retorted  Agg  cheerfully.  "  By  the 
way,  George,  I  want  to  talk  to  you."  She  turned  to 
Marguerite  and  repeated  in  quite  a  different  voice :  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  him,  dear,  to-night.  Do  let  him  stay. 
Will  you?" 

Marguerite  gave  a  puzzled  assent. 

"  I'll  call  after  I've  taken  Marguerite  to  Alexandra 
Grove,  Agg  —  on  my  way  back  to  the  club." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  won't !  "  said  Agg.  "  I  shall  be  gone  to 
bed  then.  Look  at  that  portrait  and  see  how  I've 
worked.  My  family's  concerned  about  me.  It  wants 
me  to  go  away  for  a  holiday." 

George  had  not  till  then  noticed  the  portrait  at  all. 

"  But  I  must  take  Marguerite  along  to  the  Grove," 
he  insisted.     "  She  can't  go  alone." 

"  And  why  can't  she  go  alone?  What  sort  of  a  con- 
ventional world  do  you  think  you  live  in?     Don't  girls 


THE  RUPTURE  185 

go  home  alone?  Don't  they  come  in  alone?  Don't  I? 
Anybody  would  think,  to  listen  to  some  people,  that  the 
purdah  flourishes  in  Chelsea.  But  it's  all  pretence.  I 
don't  ask  for  the  honour  of  a  private  interview  with  you 
every  night.  You've  both  of  you  got  all  your  lives  be- 
fore you.  And  for  once  in  a  way  Marguerite's  going 
out  alone.  At  least  you  can  take  her  to  the  street,  I 
don't  mind  that.  But  don't  be  outside  more  than  a 
minute." 

Agg,  who  had  sat  down,  rose  and  slowly  removed  her 
small  hat.  With  pins  in  her  mouth  she  said  something 
about  the  luggage  to  Marguerite. 

"  All  right !  All  right !  "  George  surrendered  gloom- 
ily. In  truth  he  was  not  sorry  to  let  Marguerite  depart 
solitary.  And  Agg's  demeanour  was  very  peculiar;  he 
would  have  been  almost  afraid  to  be  too  obstinate  in 
denying  her  request.  He  had  never  seen  her  hysterical, 
but  a  suspicion  took  him  that  she  might  be  capable  of 
hysteria.  .  .  .  You  never  knew,  with  that  kind  of  girl 
—  he  thought  sagaciously. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  alley,  George  said  to  Marguer- 
ite, feigning  irritation : 

"  What  on  earth  does  she  want  ?  " 
"Agg?     Oh!     It's  probably  nothing.     She  does  get 
excited  sometimes,  you  know." 

The  two  girls  had  parted  with  strange  hard  demon- 
strations of  affection  from  Agg. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  write,"  said  George  coldly. 
"  To-morrow,  darling,"  she  replied  quite  simply  and 
gravely. 

Her  kiss  was  warm,  complete,  faithful,  very  loving, 
very  sympathetic.  Nothing  in  her  demeanour  as  she 
left  him  showed  that  George  had  received  it  in  a  non- 
committal manner.  Yet  she  must  have  noticed  his 
wounded  reserve.     He  did  not  like  such  duplicity.     He 


186  THE  ROLL-CALL 

would  have  preferred  her  to  be  less  miraculously  angelic. 

When  he  re-entered  the  studio,  Agg,  who  very  seldom 
smoked,  was  puffing  violently  at  a  cigarette.  She  re- 
clined on  one  elbow  on  the  settee,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
portrait  of  herself.  George  was  really  perturbed  by 
the  baffling  queerness  of  the  scenes  through  which  he 
was  passing. 

"  Look  here,  infant-in-arms,"  she  began  immediatel3\ 
"  I  only  wanted  to  say  two  words  to  you  about  Mar- 
guerite.     Can  you  stand  it.''  " 

There  was  a  pause.  George  walked  in  front  of  her, 
hiding  the  easel. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  Well,  Marguerite's  a  magnificent  girl.  She's  ex- 
traordinarily capable.  You'd  think  she  could  look  after 
herself  as  well  as  any  one.  But  she  can't.  I  know  her 
far  better  than  you  do.  She  needs  looking  after. 
She'll  make  a  fool  of  herself  if  she  isn't  handled." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  " 

"  You  know  how  I  mean." 

"  D'you  mean  about  the  old  man.''  " 

"  I  mean  about  the  perfectly  horrid  old  man.  .  .  . 
Ah !  If  I  was  in  your  place,  if  I  was  a  man,"  she  said 
passionately,  "  do  you  know  what  I  should  do  with  Mar- 
guerite.'' I  should  carry  her  off.  I  should  run  away 
with  her.  I  should  drag  her  out  of  the  house,  and  she 
should  know  what  a  real  man  was.  I'm  not  going  to 
discuss  her  with  you.  I'm  not  going  to  say  any  more 
at  all.  I'm  off  to  bed.  But  before  you  go,  I  do  think 
you  might  tell  mo  my  portrait's  a  pretty  good  thing." 

And  she  did  not  say  any  more. 


ni 


The  written  part  of  the  examination  lasted  four  days; 
and  then  there  was  an  interval  of  one  day  in  which  the 


THE  RUPTURE  187 

harassed  and  harried  aspirants  might  restore  them- 
selves for  the  two  days'  ordeal  of  the  viva  voce.  George 
had  continued  to  be  well  satisfied  with  his  work  up  to 
the  interval.  He  considered  that  he  had  perfectly  suc- 
ceeded in  separating  the  lover  and  the  examinee,  and 
that  nothing  foreign  to  the  examination  could  vitiate  his 
activity  therein.  It  was  on  the  day  of  repose,  a 
Wednesday,  that  a  doubt  suddenly  occurred  to  him  as 
to  the  correctness  of  his  answer,  in  the  "  Construction  " 
paper,  to  a  question  which  began  with  the  following  for- 
midable words :  "  A  girder,  freely  supported  at  each 
end  and  forty  feet  long,  carries  a  load  of  six  tons  at  a 
distance  of  six  feet  from  one  end  and  another  load  of 

ten  tons "     Thus  it  went  on  for  ten  lines.     He  had 

always  been  impatient  of  detail,  and  he  hated  every  kind 
of  calculation.  Nevertheless  he  held  that  calculations 
were  relatively  easy,  and  that  he  could  do  them  as  well 
as  the  dryest  duffer  in  the  profession  when  he  set  his 
mind  to  them.  But  the  doubt  as  to  the  correctness  of 
his  answer  developed  into  a  certainty.  Facing  the 
question  in  private  again,  he  obtained  four  different 
solutions  In  an  hour ;  It  was  John  Orgreave  who  ulti- 
mately set  him  right,  convicting  him  of  a  most  elemen- 
tary misconception.  Forthwith  his  faith  In  his  whole 
"  Construction  "  paper  vanished.  He  grumbled  that  It 
was  monstrous  to  give  candidates  an  unbroken  stretch 
of  four  hours'  work  at  the  end  of  a  four-day  effort. 
Yet  earlier  he  had  been  boasting  that  he  had  not  felt  the 
slightest  fatigue.  He  had  expected  to  see  Marguerite 
on  the  day  of  repose.  He  did  not  see  her.  She  had 
offered  no  appointment,  and  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  running  after  her. 
Such  had  become  the  attitude  of  the  lover  to  the  be- 
loved. 

On  the  Thursday  morning,  however,  he  felt  fit  enough 


188  THE  ROLL-CALL 

to  face  a  dozen  oral  examiners,  and  he  performed  his 
morning  exercises  in  the  club  bedroom  with  a  positive 
ferocity  of  vigour.     And  then  he  was  gradually  over- 
taken by  a  black  moodiness  which  he  could  not  explain. 
He  had  passed  through  similar  though  less  acute  moods 
as  a  boy ;  but  this  was  the  first  of  the  inexplicable  som- 
bre humours  which  at  moments  darkened  his  manhood. 
He  had  not  the  least  suspicion  that  prolonged  nervous 
tension  due  to  two  distinct  causes  had  nearly  worn  him 
out.     He  was  melancholy,  and  his  melancholy  increased. 
But  he  was  proud ;  he  was  defiant.     His  self-confidence, 
as  he  looked  back  at  the  years  of  genuine  hard  study  be- 
hind him,  was  complete.     He  disdained  examiners.     He 
knew  that  with  all  their  damnable  ingenuity  they  could 
not  floor  him. 

The  crisis  arrived  in  the  afternoon  of  the  first  of  the 
two  days.      His  brain  was  quite  clear.     Thousands  of 
details  about  drainage,  ventilation,  shoring,   architec- 
tural practice,  lighting,  subsoils,  specifications,  iron  and 
steel  construction,  underpinning,  the  properties  of  build- 
ing materials,  strains,  thrusts,  water-supply ;  thousands 
of  details  about  his  designs  —  the  designs  in  his  "  testi- 
monies of  study,"  the  design  for  his  Thesis,  and  the  de- 
signs produced  during  the  examination  itself, —  all  these 
peopled  his  brain ;  but  they  were  in  order ;  they  were 
under  control,  they  were  his  slaves.     For  four  and  a 
half  hours,  off  and  on,  he  had  admirably  displayed  the 
reality  of  his  knowledge,  and  then  he  was  sent  into  a 
fresh  room  to  meet  a  fresh  examiner.     There  he  stood  in 
the  room  alone  with  his  designs  for  a  small  provincial 
town-hall, —  a  key-plan,  several  one-eighth  scale  plans, 
a  piece  of  half-inch  detail,  and  two  rough  perspective 
sketches  which  he  knew  were  brilliant.     The  room  was 
hot ;  through  the  open  window  came  the  distant  sound 
of  the  traffic  of  Regent  Street.     The  strange  melan- 


THE  RUPTURE  189 

choly  of  a  city  in  summer  floated  towards  him  from 
the  outside  and  reinforced  his  own. 

The  examiner,  who  had  been  snatching  tea,  entered 
briskly  and  sternly.  He  was  a  small,  dapper,  fair  man 
of  about  fifty,  with  wonderfully-tended  finger-nails. 
George  despised  him  because  Mr.  Enwright  despised  him, 
but  he  had  met  him  once  in  the  way  of  the  firm's  business 
and  had  found  him  urbane. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  George  politely. 

The  examiner  replied,  trotting  along  the  length  of  the 
desk  with  quick  short  steps : 

"  Now  about  this  work  of  yours.  I've  looked  at  it 
with  some  care "  His  speech  was  like  his  de- 
meanour and  his  finger-nails. 

"  Boor  !  "  thought  George.  But  he  could  not  actively 
resent  the  slight.  He  glanced  round  at  the  walls ;  he 
was  in  a  prison.  He  was  at  the  mercy  of  a  tyrant  in- 
vested with  omnipotence. 

The  little  tyrant,  however,  was  superficially  affable. 
Only  now  and  then  in  his  prim,  courteous  voice  was 
there  a  hint  of  hostility  and  cruelty.  He  put  a  num- 
ber of  questions,  the  answers  to  which  had  to  be  George's 
justification.  He  said  "  Hm ! "  and  "Ah!"  and 
*'  Really?  "     He  came  to  the  matter  of  spouting. 

"  Now  I  object  to  hopper-heads,"  he  said.  "  I  re- 
gard them  as  unhygienic." 

And  he  looked  coldh^  at  George  with  eyebrows  lifted. 
George  returned  the  gaze. 

"  I  know  you  do,  sir,"  George  replied. 

Indeed  it  was  notorious  that  hopper-heads  to  vertical 
spouting  were  a  special  antipathy  of  the  examiner's ;  he 
was  a  famous  faddist.  But  the  reply  was  a  mistake. 
The  examiner,  secure  in  his  attributes,  ignored  the  sally. 
A  little  later,  taking  up  the  general  plan  of  the  town- 
hall,  he  said : 


190  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  The  fact  is,  I  do  —  not  —  care  for  this  kind  of 
thing.     The  whole  tendency " 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  George  interrupted,  with  conscious 
and  elaborate  respectfulness,  "  but  surely  the  ques- 
tion isn't  one  of  personal  preferences.  Is  the  design 
good  or  is  it  bad  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  call  it  bad,"  said  the  examiner,  showing  tes- 
tiness.  The  examiner  too  could  be  impulsive,  was  indeed 
apt  to  be  short-tempered.  The  next  instant  he  seized 
one  of  the  brilliant  perspective  sketches,  and  by  his 
mere  manner  of  holding  it  between  his  thumb  and  finger 
he  sneered  at  it  and  condemned  it. 

He  snapped  out,  not  angrily, —  rather  pityingly: 

"  And  what  the  devil's  this?" 

George,  furious,  retorted : 

"  What  the  hell  do  you  think  it  is.?  " 

He  had  not  foreseen  that  he  was  going  to  say  such  a 
thing.  The  traffic  in  Regent  Street,  which  had  been  in- 
audible to  both  of  them,  was  loud  in  their  ears. 

The  examiner  had  committed  a  peccadillo,  George  a 
terrible  crime.  The  next  morning  the  episode,  in  vari- 
ous forms,  was  somehow  common  knowledge  and  a  source 
of  Immense  diversion.  George  went  through  the  second 
day,  but  lifelessly.  He  was  sure  he  had  failed.  Apart 
from  the  significance  of  the  fact  that  the  viva  voce 
counted  for  550  marks  out  of  a  total  of  1,200,  he  felt 
that  the  Royal  Institute  of  British  Architects  would 
know  how  to  defend  its  dignity.  On  the  Saturday  morn- 
ing John  Orgrcave  had  positive  secret  information  that 
George  would  be  plucked. 

IV 

On  that  same  Saturday  afternoon  George  and  Mar- 
guerite went  out  together.  She  had  given  him  a  ren- 
dezvous   in    Brompton    Cemetery,    choosing   this    spot 


THE  RUPTURE  191 

partly  because  it  was  conveniently  near  and  partly  in 
unconscious  obedience  to  the  traditional  instinct  of  lov- 
ers for  the  society  of  the  undisturbing  dead.  Each  of 
them  had  a  roofed  habitation,  but  neither  could  employ 
it  for  the  ends  of  love.  No.  8  was  barred  to  George  as 
much  by  his  own  dignity  as  by  the  invisible  sword  of 
the  old  man ;  and  of  course  he  could  not  break  the  im- 
memorial savage  taboo  of  a  club  by  introducing  a  girl 
into  it.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  himself,  though  Can- 
dle Court  was  his  purdah,  could  never  have  broken  the 
taboo  of  even  so  modest  a  club  as  Pickering's.  Owing 
to  the  absence  of  Agg,  who  had  gone  to  Wales  with  part 
of  her  family,  the  studio  in  Manresa  Road  was  equally 
closed  to  the  pair. 

Marguerite  was  first  at  the  rendezvous.  George  saw 
her  walking  sedately  near  the  entrance.  Despite  her 
sedateness  she  had  unmistakably  the  air  of  waiting  at  a 
tryst.  Anybody  at  a  glance  would  have  said  that  she 
was  expecting  a  man.  She  had  the  classical  demure 
innocency  of  her  situation.  George  did  not  care  for 
that.  Why?  She  in  fact  was  expecting  a  man,  and 
in  expecting  him  she  had  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of. 
Well,  he  did  not  care  for  it.  He  did  not  care  for  her 
being  like  other  girls  of  her  class.  In  liis  pocket  he  had 
an  invitation  from  Miss  Wheeler  for  the  next  evening. 
Would  Miss  Wheeler  wait  for  a  man  in  a  public  place, 
especially  a  cemetery?  Would  Lois  Ingram?  Would 
Laurencine?  He  could  not  picture  them  so  waiting. 
Oh,  simpleton,  unlearned  in  the  world !  A  snob  too,  no 
doubt!  (He  actually  thought  that  Hyde  Park  would 
have  been  "  better  "  than  the  cemetery  for  their  ren- 
dezvous.) And  illogical!  If  No.  8  had  been  open  to 
them,  and  the  studio,  and  the  club,  he  would  have  ac- 
cepted with  gusto  the  idea  of  an  open-air  rendezvous. 
But  since  there  was  no  alternative  to  an  open-air  ren- 


192  THE  ROLL-CALL 

dezvous   the  idea   of  it   humiliated   and   repelled  him. 

Further,  in  addition  to  her  culpable  demure  inno- 
cency,  Marguerite  was  wearing  black.  Of  course  she 
was.  She  had  no  choice.  Still,  he  hated  her  mourning. 
Moreover,  she  was  too  modest; "she  did  not  impose  her- 
self. Some  girls  wore  mourning  with  splendid  defiance. 
Marguerite  seemed  to  apologise ;  seemed  to  turn  the 
other  cheek  to  death.  .  .  .  He  arrived  critical,  and  nat- 
urally he  found  matter  to  criticise. 

Her  greeting  showed  quite  candidly  the  pleasure  she 
had  in  the  sight  of  him.  Her  heart  was  in  the  hand 
she  gave  him  ;  he  felt  its  mystic  throbbings  there. 

"  How  are  things  ?  "  he  began.  "  I  rather  thought  I 
should  have  been  hearing  more  from  you."  He  softened 
his  voice  to  match  the  tenderness  of  her  smile,  but  he 
did  it  consciously. 

She  replied : 

"  I  thought  you'd  have  enough  to  worry  about  with 
the  exam,  without  me." 

It  was  not  a  wise  speech,  because  it  implied  that  he 
was  capable  of  being  worried,  of  being  disturbed  in  the 
effort  of  absorption  necessary  for  the  examination.  He 
laughed  a  little  harshly. 

"  Well,  you  see  the  result !  " 

He  had  written  to  tell  her  of  the  disastrous  incident 
and  that  failure  was  a  certainty ;  a  sort  of  shame  had 
made  him  recoil  from  telling  her  to  her  face;  it  was 
easier  to  be  casual  in  writing  than  in  talking;  the  letter 
had  at  any  rate  tempered  for  both  of  them  the  shock 
of  communication.  Now,  he  was  out  of  humour  with 
her  because  he  had  played  the  ass  with  an  ass  of  an 
examiner, —  not  because  she  was  directly  or  indirectly 
responsible  for  his  doing  so ;  simply  because  he  had  done 
so.  She  was  the  woman.  It  was  true  that  she  in  part 
was  indirectly  responsible  for  the  calamity,  but  he  did 


ii 


THE  RUPTURE  193 

not  believe  it,  and  anyhow  would  never  have  admitted  it. 

"  Oh !  George  !  What  a  shame  it  was  !  "  As  usual, 
not  a  trace  of  reproach  from  her ;  an  absolute  conviction 
that  he  was  entirely  blameless.  "  What  shall  you  do.f* 
You'll  have  to  sit  again." 

"  Sit  again !  Me  !  "  he  exclaimed  haughtily.  "  I 
never  shall !  I've  done  with  exams."  He  meant  it. 
But  —  shall  you  give  up  architecture,  then  ?  " 
Certainly  not !  My  dear  girl,  what  are  you  think- 
ing oi?  Of  course  I  shan't  give  up  architecture.  But 
you  needn't  pass  any  exams  to  be  an  architect.  Any- 
body can  call  himself  an  architect,  and  be  an  architect, 
without  passing  exams.  Exams  are  optional.  That's 
what  makes  old  Enwright  so  cross  with  our  beautiful 
profession." 

He  laughed  again  harshly.  All  the  time,  beneath  his 
quite  genuine  defiance,  he  was  thinking  what  an  idiot 
he  had  been  to  cheek  the  examiner,  and  how  staggeringly 
simple  it  wa."  to  ruin  years  of  industry  by  one  impul- 
sive moment's  folly,  and  how  iniquitous  was  a  world  in 
which  such  injustice  could  be. 

Marguerite  was  puzzled.  In  her  ignorance  she  had 
imagined  that  professions  were  inseparably  connected 
with  examinations.  However,  she  had  to  find  faith  to 
accept  his  dictum,  and  she  found  it. 

"  Now  about  this  afternoon,"  he  said.  "  I  vote  we 
take  a  steamboat  down  the  river.  I've  made  up  my 
mind  I  must  have  a  look  at  Greenwich  again  from  the 
water.     And  we  both  need  a  blow." 

"  But  won't  it  take  a  long  time?  "  she  mildly  objected. 

He  turned  on  her  violently,  and  spoke  as  he  had 
never  spoken : 

"What  if  it  does?" 

He  knew  that  she  was  thinking  of  her  infernal  father, 
and  he  would  not  have  it.      He  remembered  all  that  Agg 


194  THE  ROLL-CALL 

had  said.  Assuredly  Agg  had  shown  nerve,  too  much 
nerve,  to  tackle  him  in  the  way  she  did,  and  the  more 
he  reflected  upon  Agg's  interference  the  more  he  resented 
it  as  impertinent.  Still,  Agg  had  happened  to  talk 
sense. 

"  Oh,  nothing !  "  Marguerite  agreed  quickly,  fear- 
fully. "  I  should  like  to  go.  I've  never  been.  Do  we 
go  to  Chelsea  Pier.''  Down  Fernshaw  Road  will  be  the 
nearest." 

"  We'll  go  down  Beaufort  Street,"  he  decided.  He 
divined  that  she  had  suggested  Fernshaw  Road  in  order 
to  avoid  passing  the  end  of  the  Grove,  where  her  father 
might  conceivably  see  them.  Well,  he  was  not  going 
out  of  his  way  to  avoid  her  father.  Nay,  he  was  going 
slightly  out  of  his  way  in  order  to  give  her  father  every 
chance  of  beholding  them  together. 

Although  the  day  was  Saturday  there  was  no  stir 
on  Chelsea  Pier.  The  pier-keeper,  indeed,  was  alone  on 
the  pier,  which  rose  high  on  the  urgent  flood  tide,  so  that 
the  gangway  to  it  sloped  unusually  upwards.  No 
steamer  was  in  sight,  and  it  seemed  impossible  that  any 
steamer  should  ever  call  at  that  forlorn  and  decrepit 
platform  that  trembled  under  the  straining  of  the  water. 
Nevertheless,  a  steamer  did  after  a  little  while  appear 
round  the  bend,  in  Battersea  Reach,  drooped  its  funnel, 
aimed  its  sharp  nose  at  an  arch  of  Battersea  Bridge, 
and  finally,  poising  itself  against  the  strong  stream, 
bumped  very  gently  and  neatly  into  contact  with  the 
pier.  The  pier-keeper  went  through  all  the  classic  mo- 
tions of  mooring,  unbarring,  barring,  and  casting  off^, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  the  throbbing  steamer,  which  was 
named  with  the  name  of  a  great  Londoner,  left  the  pier 
again  with  George  and  Marguerite  on  board.  Nobody 
had  disembarked.  The  shallow  and  handsome  craft, 
flying  its  gay  flags,  crossed  and  re-crossed  the  river, 


THE  RUPTURE  195 

calling-  at  three  piers  in  the  space  of  a  few  minutes ;  but 
all  the  piers  were  like  Chelsea  Pier ;  all  the  pier-keepers 
had  the  air  of  castaways  upon  shaking  islets.  The 
passengers  on  the  steamer  would  not  have  filled  a  motor- 
bus,  and  they  carried  themselves  like  melancholy  adven- 
turers who  have  begun  to  doubt  the  authenticity  of  the 
inspiration  which  sent  them  on  a  mysterious  quest. 
Such  was  travel  on  the  Thames  in  the  years  immediately 
before  Londoners  came  to  a  final  decision  that  the 
Thames  was  meet  to  be  ignored  by  the  genteel  town 
which  it  had  begotten. 

George  and  Marguerite  sat  close  together  near  the 
prow,  saying  little,  the  one  waiting  to  spring,  the  other 
to  suffer  onslaught.  It  was  in  Lambeth  Reach  that  the 
broad,  brimming  river  challenged  and  seized  George's 
imagination.  A  gusty,  warm  southwest  wind  met  the 
rushing  tide  and  blew  it  up  into  foamy  waves.  The 
wind  was  powerful,  but  the  tide  was  irresistible.  Far 
awa}'.  Land's  End  having  divided  the  Atlantic  surge, 
that  same  wind  was  furiously  driving  vast  waters  up  the 
English  Channel  and  round  the  Forelands,  and  also  vast 
waters  up  the  west  coast  of  Britain.  The  twin  surges 
had  met  again  in  the  outer  estuary  of  the  Thames  and 
joined  their  terrific  impulses  to  defy  the  very  wind 
which  had  given  them  strength,  and  the  mighty  flux 
swept  with  unregarding  power  through  the  mushroom 
city  whose  existence  on  its  banks  was  a  transient  episode 
in  the  everlasting  life  of  the  river. 

The  river  seemed  to  threaten  the  city  that  had  con- 
fined it  in  stone.  And  George,  in  the  background  of 
his  mind  which  was  obsessed  by  the  tormenting  enigma 
of  the  girl  by  his  side,  also  threatened  the  city.  With 
the  uncompromising  arrogance  of  the  student  who  has 
newly  acquired  critical  ideas,  he  estimated  and  judged 
it.     He  cursed  the  Tate  Gallery  and  utterly  damned 


196  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Doulton's  works.  He  sternly  approved  Lambeth  Pal- 
ace, the  Houses  of  Parliament,  Westminster  Abbey, 
Somerset  House,  Waterloo  Bridge,  and  St.  Paul's.  He 
cursed  St.  Thomas's  Hospital  and  the  hotels.  He  pat- 
ronised New  Scotland  Yard.  The  "  Isambard  Brunei  " 
penetrated  more  and  more  into  the  heart  of  the  city, 
fighting  for  every  yard  of  her  progress.  Flags  stood 
out  straight  in  the  blue  sky  traversed  by  swift  white 
clouds.  Huge  rudderless  barges,  each  with  a  dwarf  in 
the  stern  struggling  at  a  giant's  oar,  were  borne  west- 
wards broadside  on  like  straws  upon  the  surface  of  a 
hurrying  brook.  A  launch  with  an  orchestra  on  board 
flew  gaily  past.  Tugs  with  a  serpentine  tail  of  craft 
threaded  perilously  through  the  increasing  traffic. 
Railway  trains,  cabs,  coloured  omnibuses,  cyclists,  and 
footfarers,  mingled  in  and  complicated  the  scene.  Then 
the  first  ocean-going  steamer  appeared,  belittling  all 
else.  And  then  the  calm  pale  beauty  of  the  Custom 
House  at  last  humbled  George,  and  for  an  instant  made 
him  think  that  he  could  never  do  an3'thing  worth  doing. 
His  pride  leapt  up,  unconquerable.  The  ocean-going 
steamers,  as  they  multiplied  on  the  river,  roused  in  him 
wild  and  painful  longings  to  rush  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  and  gorge  himself  on  the  immense  feast  which  the 
great  romantic  earth  had  to  offer. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed  passionately.  "  I'd  give 
something  to  go  to  Japan." 

"Would  you?"  Marguerite  answered  with  mildness. 
She  had  not  the  least  notion  of  what  he  was  feeling. 
Her  voice  responded  to  him,  but  her  imagination  did  not 
respond.  True,  as  he  had  always  known,  she  had  no 
ambition !  The  critical  quality  of  his  mood  developed. 
The  imperious  impulse  came  to  take  her  to  task. 

"What's  the  latest  about  your  father?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  touch   of  impatient,   aggrieved   disdain.     Both 


THE  RUPTURE  197 

were  aware  that  the  words  had  opened  a  crucial  inter- 
view between  them.  She  moved  nervously  on  the  seat. 
The  benches  that  ran  along  the  deck-rails  met  in  an 
acute  angle  at  the  stem  of  the  steamer,  so  that  the  pair 
sat  opposite  each  other  with  their  knees  almost  touch- 
ing. He  went  on :  "I  hear  he  hasn't  gone  back  to  the 
office  3'et." 

"  No,"  said  Marguerite.     "  But  he'll  start  again  on 
Monday,  I  think." 

"  But   is  he  fit  to   go   back  ?     I   thought  he  looked 
awful." 

She  flushed  slightly  —  at  the  indirect  reference  to  the 
episode  in  the  basement  on  the  night  of  the  death. 

"  It  will  do  him  good  to  go  back,"  said  Marguerite. 
"  I'm  sure  he  misses  the  office  dreadfully." 

George  gazed  at  her  person.  Under  the  thin  glove 
he  suddenly  detected  the  form  of  her  ring.  She  was 
wearing  it  again,  then.  (He  could  not  remember 
whether  she  had  worn  it  at  their  last  meeting,  in  Agg's 
studio.  The  very  curious  fact  was  that  at  their  last 
meeting  he  had  forgotten  to  look  for  the  ring.)  Not 
only  was  she  wearing  the  ring,  but  she  carried  a  stylish 
little  handbag  which  he  had  given  her.  When  he  bought 
that  bag,  in  the  Burlington  Arcade,  it  had  been  a  bag 
like  any  other  bag.  But  now  it  had  become  part  of  her, 
individualised  by  her  personality,  a  mysterious  and 
provocative  bag.  Everything  she  wore,  down  to  her 
boots  and  even  her  bootlaces  so  neatly  threaded  and 
knotted,  was  mysterious  and  provocative.  He  examined 
her  face.  It  was  marvellously  beautiful ;  it  was  ordi- 
nary; it  was  marvellously  beautiful.  He  knew  her  to 
the  depth ;  he  did  not  know  her  at  all ;  she  was  a  chance 
acquaintance ;  she  was  a  complete  stranger. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  with  him.?*     You  know  you 
really  ought  to  tell  me." 


198  THE  ROLL-CALL 


Oh,     George ! "     she     said,     earnestly     vivacious. 

You're  wrong  in  thinking  he's  not  nice  to  me.  He  is. 
He's  quite  forgiven  me." 

"  Forgiven  you !  "  George  took  her  up.  "  I  should 
like  to  know  what  he  had  to  forgive." 

*'  Well,"  she  murmured  timorously,  "  you  understand 
what  I  mean." 

He  drummed  his  elegant  feet  on  the  striated  deck. 
Out  of  the  corner  of  his  left  eye  he  saw  the  mediaeval 
shape  of  the  Tower  rapidl}'  disappearing.  In  front 
were  the  variegated  funnels  and  masts  of  fleets  gathered 
together  in  St.  Katherine's  Dock  and  London  Dock. 
The  steamer  gained  speed  as  she  headed  from  Cherry 
Gardens  Pier  towards  the  middle  of  the  river.  She  was 
a  frail  trifle  compared  to  the  big  boats  that  lined  the 
wharves  ;  but  in  herself  she  had  size  and  irresistible  force, 
travelling  quite  smoothly  over  the  short,  riotous,  spark- 
ling waves  which  her  cut-water  divided  and  spurned 
away  on  either  side.  Only  a  tremor  faintly  vibrated 
throughout  her  being. 

"  Has  he  forgiven  you  for  being  engaged.''  "  George 
demanded,  with  rough  sarcasm. 

She  showed  no  resentment  of  his  tone,  but  replied 
gently : 

"  I  did  try  to  mention  it  once,  but  it  was  no  use  — 
he  wasn't  in  a  condition.  He  made  me  quite  afraid 
—  not  for  me  of  course,  but  for  him." 

"  Well,  I  give  it  up !  "  said  George.  "  I  simply  give 
it  up  !  It's  past  me.  How  soon's  he  going  to  be  in  con- 
dition? He  can't  keep  us  walking  about  the  streets 
forever." 

"  No,  of  course  not !  "     She  smiled  to  placate  him. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  George,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
her  hand,  remarked : 

"  I  see  you've  got  your  ring  on." 


THE  RUPTURE  199 

She  too  looked  at  her  hand. 

"  My  ring?     Naturally.     What  do  you  n>ean?  *' 

He  proceeded  cruelly: 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  wear  it  in  the  house,  so  that  the 
sight  of  it  shan't  anno}'  him." 

She  flushed  once  more. 

"  Oh,  George  dear !  "  Her  glance  asked  for  mercy, 
for  magnanimity. 

"  Do  you  wear  it  when  you're  in  the  house,  or  don't 

you?" 

Her  eyes  fell. 

*'  I  daren't  excite  him.  Truly  I  daren't.  It  wouldn't 
do.     It  wouldn't  be  right." 

She  was  admitting  George's  haphazard  charge  against 
her.  He  was  astounded.  But  he  merely  flung  back 
his  head  and  raised  his  eyebrows.     He  thought : 

"  And  yet  she  sticks  to  it  he's  nice  to  her !     My  God !  " 

He  said  nothing  aloud.  The  Royal  Hospital  Green- 
wich showed  itself  in  the  distance  like  a  domed  island 
rising  fabulously  out  of  the  blue-green  water.  Even 
far  off",  before  he  could  decipher  the  main  contours  of 
the  gigantic  quadruple  pile,  the  vision  excited  him.  His 
mind,  darkened  by  the  most  dreadful  apprehensions  con- 
cerning Marguerite,  dwelt  on  it  darkly,  sardonically, 
and  yet  with  pleasure.  And  he  proudly  compared  his 
own  disillusions  with  those  of  his  greatest  forerunners. 
His  studies,  and  the  example  of  Mr.  Enwright,  had 
inspired  him  with  an  extremely  enthusiastic  worship 
of  Inigo  Jones,  whom  he  classed,  not  without  reason, 
among  the  great  creative  artists  of  Europe.  He 
snorted  when  he  heard  the  Royal  Hospital  referred  to 
as  the  largest  and  finest  charitable  institution  in  the 
world.  For  him  it  was  the  supreme  English  architect- 
ural work.  He  snorted  at  the  thought  of  that  pompous 
and  absurd  monarch  James  I  ordering  Inigo  Jones  to 


200  THE  ROLL-CALL 

design  him  a  palace  surpassing  all  palaces  and  choosing 
a  sublime  site  therefor,  and  then  doing  nothing.  He 
snorted  at  the  thought  of  that  deluded  monarch  Charles 
I  ordering  Inigo  Jones  to  design  him  a  palace  surpass- 
ing all  palaces,  and  receiving  from  Inigo  Jones  the 
plans  of  a  structure  which  would  have  equalled  in  beauty 
and  eclipsed  in  grandeur  an}'  European  structure  of  the 
Christian  era, —  even  Chambord,  even  the  Escurial,  even 
Versailles  —  and  then  accomplishing  nothing  beyond  a 
tiny  fragment  of  the  sublime  dream.  He  snorted  at  the 
thought  that  Inigo  Jones  had  died  at  the  age  of  nearly 
eighty  ere  the  foundations  of  the  Greenwich  palace  had 
begun  to  be  dug,  and  without  having  seen  more  than  the 
fragment  of  his  unique  Whitehall, —  after  a  youth  spent 
in  arranging  masques  for  a  stupid  court,  and  an  old  age 
spent  in  disappointment.  But  then  no  English  monarch 
had  ever  begun  and  finished  a  palace.  George  wished, 
rather  venturesomely,  that  he  had  lived  under  Francis 
I!  .  .  . 

The  largest  and  finest  charitable  institution !  The 
ineffable  William  and  Mary  had  merely  turned  it  into 
a  charitable  institution  because  they  did  not  know  what 
else  to  do  with  it.  The  mighty  halls  which  ought  to 
have  resounded  to  the  laughter  of  the  mistresses  of 
Charles  II  were  diverted  to  the  inevitable  squalor  of 
alms-giving.  The  mutilated  victims  of  the  egotism 
and  the  fatuity  of  kings  were  imprisoned  together  under 
the  rules  and  regulations  of  charity,  the  cruellest  of  all 
rules  and  regulations.  And  all  was  done  meanly  — 
that  is,  all  that  interested  George.  Christopher  Wren, 
who  was  building  St.  Paul's  and  fighting  libels  and 
slanders  at  a  salary  of  two  hundred  a  year,  came  down 
to  Greenwich  and  for  years  worked  immortally  for 
nothing  amid  material  difficulties  that  never  ceased  to 
multiply ;  and  he  too  was  beaten  by  the  huge  monster. 


THE  RUPTURE  201 

Then  Vanbrugh  arrived  and  blithely  finished  in  corrupt 
brick  and  flaming  manifestations  of  decadence  that 
which  the  pure  and  monumental  genius  of  Inigo  Jones 
had  first  conceived.  The  north  frontages  were  marvels 
of  beauty ;  the  final  erections  to  the  south  amounted  to 
an  outrage  upon  Jones  and  Wren.  Still  the  affair  was 
the  largest  and  finest  charitable  institution  on  earth ! 
What  a  country,  thought  George,  hugging  injustice! 
So  it  had  treated  Jones  and  Wren  and  many  another. 
So  it  had  treated  Enwright.  And  so  it  would  treat, 
was  already  treating,  him,  George.  He  did  not  care. 
As  the  steamer  approached  Greenwich,  and  the  details 
of  the  aborted  palace  grew  clearer,  and  he  could  dis- 
tinguish between  the  genius  of  Jones  and  the  genius  of 
Wren,  he  felt  grimly  and  victoriously  sure  that  both 
Jones  and  Wren  had  had  the  best  of  the  struggle  against 
indifference  and  philistinism, —  as  he  too  would  have  the 
best  of  the  struggle,  though  he  should  die  obscure  and  in 
penury.  He  was  miserable  and  resentful,  and  yet  he 
was  triumphant.  The  steamer  stopped  at  the  town- 
pier. 

"Are  we  there.''"  said  Marguerite.     "Already?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  And  I  think  we  may  as  well  go 
back  by  the  same  steamer." 

She  concurred.  However,  an  official  insisted  on  them 
disembarking,  even  if  they  meant  to  re-embark  at  once. 
They  went  ashore.  The  facade  of  the  palace-hospital 
stretched  majestically  to  the  left  of  them,  in  sharp  per- 
spective, a  sensational  spectacle. 

"  It's  very  large,"  Marguerite  commented.  Her 
voice  was  nervous. 

"  Yes,  it's  rather  more  than  large,"  he  said  drily. 

He  would  not  share  his  thoughts  with  her.  He  knew 
that  she  had  some  inklings  of  taste,  but  in  that  moment 
he  preferred  to  pretend   that  her   artistic   perception 


202  THE  ROLL-CALL 

was  on  a  level  with  that  of  WilHam  and  Mary.  They 
boarded  the  steamer  again,  and  took  their  old  places; 
and  the  menacing  problem  of  their  predicament  was  still 
between  them. 

"  We  can  have  some  tea  downstairs  if  j'ou  like,"  he 
said  after  the  steamer  had  turned  round  and  started 
upstream. 

She  answered  in  tones  imperfectly  controlled: 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  swallow  any- 
thing." And  she  looked  up  at  him  very  quickly,  with 
the  embryo  of  a  smile,  and  then  looked  down  again  very 
quickly  because  she  could  not  bring  the  smile  to  ma- 
turity. 

George  thought : 

"  Am  I  going  to  have  a  scene  with  her  —  on  the 
steamer  ?  "  It  would  not  matter  much  if  a  scene  did 
occur.  There  was  nobody  else  on  deck  forward  of  the 
bridge.  They  were  alone  —  they  were  more  solitary 
than  they  might  have  been  in  the  studio,  or  in  any 
room  at  No.  8.  The  steamer  was  now  nearly  heading 
the  wind,  but  she  travelled  more  smoothly,  for  she  had 
the  last  of  the  flood  tide  under  her. 

George  said  kindly  and  persuasively  : 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know  what  the  old  gentle- 
man's got  against  me." 

She  eagerly  accepted  his  advance,  which  seemed  to 
give  her  courage. 

"  But  there's  nothing  to  know,  dear.  We  both  know 
that.  There's  nothing  at  all.  And  yet  of  course  I  can 
understand  it.  So  can  you.  In  fact  it  was  you  who 
first  explained  it  to  me.  If  you'd  left  No.  8  when  I  did 
and  he'd  heard  of  our  engagement  afterwards,  he 
wouldn't  have  thought  anything  of  it.  But  it  was  you 
staying  on  in  the  house  that  did  it,  and  him  not  know- 
ing of  the  engagement.     He  thought  you  used  to  come 


THE  RUPTURE  203 

to  see  me  at  nights  at  the  studio,  me  and  Agg,  and  make 
fun  of  everything  at  No.  8  —  especially  of  his  wife. 
He's  evidently  got  some  such  idea  in  his  head,  and  there's 
no  getting  it  out  again." 

"  But  it's  childish." 

"  I  know.  However,  we've  said  all  this  before, 
haven't  we?  " 

"  But  the  idea's  got  to  be  got  out  of  his  head  again !  '* 
said  George  vigorously  —  more  dictatorially  and  less 
persuasively  than  before. 

Marguerite  offered  no  remark.  ' 

*'  And  after  all,"  George  continued.  "  He  couldn't 
have  been  so  desperately  keen  on  —  your  stepmother. 
When  he  married  her  your  mother  hadn't  been  dead  so 
very  long,  had  she.''  " 

"  No.  But  he  never  cared  for  mother  anything  like 
so  much  as  he  cared  for  Mrs.  Lobley  —  at  least  not  as 
far  back  as  I  can  remember.  It  was  a  different  sort  of 
thing  altogether.  I  think  he  was  perfectly  mad  about 
Mrs.  Lobley.  Oh !  He  stood  mother's  death  much  — 
much  better  than  hers !     You've  no  idea " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have.  We  know  all  about  that  sort  of 
thing,"  said  George,  the  man  of  the  world,  impatiently.. 

Marguerite  said  tenderly: 

"  It's  broken  him." 

"  Nonsense !  " 

"  It  has,  George."     Her  voice  was  very  soft. 

But  George  would  not  listen  to  the  softness  of  her 
voice. 

"  Well,"  he  objected  firmly  and  strongly,  "  suppos- 
ing it  has  !  What  then.''  We're  sorry  for  him.  What 
then.'^  That  affair  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  affair. 
Is  all  that  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't  see  you  in  your 
own  home  ?  Or  are  we  to  depend  on  Agg  —  when  she 
happens  to  be  at  her  studio.'^     Or  are  we  always  to  see 


<( 


204  THE  ROLL-CALL 

each  other  in  the  street,  or  in  museums  and  things  — 
or  steamers  —  just  as  if  you  were  a  shopgirl?  We 
may  just  as  well  look  facts  in  the  face,  you  know." 

She  flushed.      Her  features  changed  under  emotion. 

"  Oh !     George !     I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"  Then  you  think  he's  determined  not  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  me.''  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  You  think  he's  determined  not  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  me,  I  say .''  " 

He  may  change,"  Marguerite  murmured. 
May   change '   be   dashed !     We've   got   to   know 
where  we  stand." 

He  most  surprisingly  stood  up,  staring  at  her.  She 
did  not  speak,  but  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  with  timid 
courage.  They  were  wet.  George  abruptly  walked 
away  along  the  deck.  The  steamer  was  passing  the 
Custom  House  again.  The  tide  had  now  almost  slacked. 
Fresh  and  heavier  clouds  had  overcast  the  sky.  All 
the  varied  thoughts  of  the  afternoon  were  active  in 
George's  head  at  once ;  architecture,  architects,  beauty, 
professional  injustices,  girls  —  his  girl.  Each  af- 
fected the  others,  for  they  were  deeply  entangled.  It 
is  a  fact  that  he  could  not  put  Inigo  Jones  and  Christo- 
pher Wren  out  of  his  head ;  he  wondered  what  had  been 
their  experiences  with  women  —  histories  and  text- 
books of  architecture  did  not  treat  of  this  surch'  im- 
portant aspect  of  architecture !  He  glanced  at  Mar- 
guerite from  the  distance.  He  remembered  what  Agg 
had  said  to  him  about  her ;  but  what  Agg  had  said  did 
not  appear  to  help  him  practically.  .  .  .  Why  had  he 
left  Marguerite?  Why  was  he  standing  thirty  feet 
from  her  and  observing  her  inimically?  He  walked 
back  to  her,  sat  down,  and  said  calmly : 

"  Listen  to  me,  darling.     Suppose  we  arrange  now, 


THE  RUPTURE  206 

definitely,  to  get  married  in  two  years'  time.  How  will 
that  do  for  you?  " 

"  But,  George,  can  you  be  sure  that  you'll  be  able  to 
marry  in  two  years  ?  " 

He  put  his  chin  forward. 

"  You  needn't  worry  about  that,"  said  he.  *'  You 
needn't  think  because  I've  failed  in  an  exam  I  don't 
know  what  I'm  about.  You  leave  all  that  to  me.  In 
two  years  I  shall  be  able  enough  to  keep  a  wife  —  and 
well!  Now  shall  we  arrange  to  get  married  in  two 
years'  time.''  " 

"  It  might  be  a  fearful  drag  for  you,"  she  said.  "  Be- 
cause you  know  I  don't  really  earn  very  much." 

*'  That's  not  the  point.  I  don't  care  what  you  earn. 
I  shan't  want  you  to  earn  anything  —  so  far  as  that 
goes.  Any  earning  that's  wanted  I  shall  be  prepared 
to  do.  I'll  put  it  like  this : —  Supposing  I'm  in  a  posi- 
tion to  keep  you,  shall  we  arrange  to  get  married  in  two 
years'  time?  "  He  found  a  fierce  pleasure  in  reiterat- 
ing the  phrase.  "  So  long  as  that's  understood,  I  don't 
mind  the  rest.  If  we  have  to  depend  on  Agg,  or  meet 
in  the  streets, —  never  mind.  It'll  be  an  infernal  nui- 
sance, but  I  expect  I  can  stand  it  as  well  as  you  can. 
Moreover,  I  quite  see  your  difficulty  —  quite.  And 
let's  hope  the  old  gentleman  will  begin  to  have  a  little 


sense." 


"  Oh,  George !     If  he  only  would !  " 

He  did  not  like  her  habit  of  "Oh,  George!  Oh! 
George !  " 

"  Well?  "     He  waited.  Ignoring  her  pious  aspiration, 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  George." 

He  restrained  himself. 

"  We're  engaged,  aren't  we?  "  She  gave  no  answer, 
and  he  repeated:  "  We're  engaged,  aren't  we?  " 

"  Yes." 


206  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  That's  all  right.  Well,  will  you  give  me  your 
absolute  promise  to  marry  me  in  two  years'  time  —  if 
I'm  in  a  position  to  keep  you?  It's  quite  simple.  You 
say  you  don't  know  what  to  say.  But  you've  got  to 
know  what  to  say."  As  he  looked  at  her  averted  face, 
his  calmness  began  to  leave  him. 

"  Oh,  George  !  I  can't  promise  that !  "  she  burst  out, 
showing  at  length  her  emotion.  The  observant  skipper 
on  the  bridge  noted  that  there  were  a  boy  and  a  girl  for- 
ward having  a  bit  of  a  tifF. 

George  trembled.  All  that  Agg  had  said  recurred  to 
him  once  more.  But  what  could  he  do  to  act  on  it.'' 
Anger  was  gaining  on  him. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  menaced. 

"  It  would  have  to  depend  on  how  father  was.  Surely 
you  must  see  that !  " 

"  Indeed  I  don't  see  it.  I  see  quite  the  contrary. 
We're  engaged.  You've  got  the  first  call  on  me,  and 
I've  got  the  first  call  on  you  —  not  your  father."  The 
skin  over  his  nose  was  tight,  owing  to  the  sudden  swell- 
ing of  two  points,  one  on  either  side  of  the  bone. 

"  George,  I  couldn't  leave  him  —  again.  I  think  now 
I  may  have  been  wrong  to  leave  him  before.  However, 
that's  over.  I  couldn't  leave  him  again.  It  would  be 
very  wrong.     He'd  be  all  alone." 

"  Well,  then,  let  him  be  friends  with  me." 

"  I  do  wish  he  would." 

*'  Yes.  Well,  wishing  won't  do  much  good.  If 
there's  any  trouble  it's  entirely  your  father's  fault. 
And  what  I  want  to  know  is  —  will  you  give  me  your 
absolute  promise  to  marry  me  in  two  years'  time?  " 

"I  can't,  George.  It  wouldn't  be  honest.  I  can't! 
I  can't !  How  can  you  ask  me  to  throw  over  my  duty 
to  father?  " 

He   rose    and   walked   away,    again.      She    was    pro- 


THE  RUPTURE  207 

foundlj  moved,  but  no  sympathy  for  her  mitigated  his 
resentment.  He  considered  that  her  attitude  was  ut- 
terly monstrous  —  monstrous !  He  could  not  find  a 
word  adequate  for  it.  He  was  furious ;  his  fury  in- 
creased with  each  moment.  He  returned  to  the  prow, 
but  did  not  sit  down. 

"  Don't  you  think  then  you  ought  to  choose  between 
your  father  and  me.'*  "  he  said,  in  a  low,  hard  voice, 
standing  over  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean .''  "  she  faltered. 

"  What  do  I  mean.P  It's  plain  enough  what  I  mean, 
isn't  it.''  Your  father  may  live  twent}^  years  yet.  No- 
body knows.  The  older  he  gets  the  more  obstinate 
he'll  be.  We  may  be  kept  hanging  about  for  years  and 
years  and  years.  Indefinitely.  What's  the  sense  of  it.? 
You  say  you've  got  your  duty,  but  what's  the  object  of 
being  engaged  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  to  break  it  off,  George.-^  " 

"  Now  don't  put  it  hke  that.  You  know  I  don't 
■want  to  break  it  off.  You  know  I  want  to  marry  you. 
Only  you  won't,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be  made  a  fool  of. 
I'm  absolutely  innocent." 

"  Of  course  you  are !  "  she  agreed  eagerly. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  be  made  a  fool  of  by  your 
father.  If  we're  engaged,  you  know  what  it  means. 
Marriage.  If  it  doesn't  mean  that,  then  I  say  we'v^e 
no  right  to  be  engaged." 

Marguerite  seemed  to  recoil  at  the  last  words,  but 
she  recovered  herself.  And  then,  heedless  of  being  in  a 
public  place,  she  drew  off  her  glove,  and  drew  the  en- 
gagement ring  from  her  finger,  and  held  it  out  to  George. 
She  could  not  speak.  The  gesture  was  her  language. 
George  was  extremel}'  staggered.  He  was  stupefied 
for  an  instant.  Then  he  took  the  ring,  and  under  an 
uncontrollable  savage  impulse  he  threw  it  into  the  river. 


208  THE  ROLL-CALL 

He  did  not  move  for  a  considerable  time,  staring  at  the 
river  in  front.  Neither  did  she  move.  At  length  he 
said,  in  a  cold  voice,  without  moving  his  head : 

"  Here's  Chelsea  Pier." 

She  got  up  and  walked  to  the  rail  amidships.  He 
followed.  The  steamer  moored.  A  section  of  rail  slid 
aside.  The  pier-keeper  gave  a  hand  to  Marguerite, 
who  jumped  on  to  the  pier.  George  hesitated.  The 
pier-keeper  challenged  him  testily : 

"  Now  then,  are  ye  coming  ashore  or  aren't  ye?  " 

George  could  not  move.  The  pier-keeper  banged  the 
rail  to  close  the  gap,  and  cast  off  the  ropes,  and  the 
steamer  resumed  her  voy&ge. 

A  minute  later  George  saw  Marguerite  slowly  cross- 
ing the  gangway  from  the  pier  to  the  embankment. 
There  she  went !  She  was  about  to  be  swallowed  up  in 
the  waste  of  human  dwellings,  in  the  measureless  and 
tragic  expanse  of  the  indifferent  town.  .  .  .  She  was 
gone.  Curse  her,  with  her  reliability !  She  was  too 
reliable.  He  knew  that.  Her  father  could  rely  on  her. 
Curse  her,  with  her  outrageous,  incredibly  cruel  and 
unjust  sense  of  duty!  She  had  held  him  once.  Once 
the  sight  of  her  had  made  him  turn  hot  and  cold.  Once 
the  prospect  of  life  without  her  had  seemed  unbearable. 
He  had  loved  her  instinctively  and  intensely.  He  now 
judged  and  condemned  her.  Her  beauty,  her  sweet- 
ness, her  belief  in  him,  her  reliability  —  these  qualities 
were  neutralised  by  her  sense  of  duty,  awful,  uncom- 
promising, blind  to  fundamental  justice.  The  affair 
was  over.  If  he  knew  her,  he  knew  also  himself.  The 
affair  was  over.  He  was  in  despair.  His  mind  went 
round  and  round  like  a  life-prisoner  exercising  in  an 
enclosed  yard.  No  escape.  Till  then,  he  had  always 
believed  in  his  luck.  Infantile  delusion!  He  was  now 
aware  that  destiny  had  struck  him  a  blow  once  for  all. 


THE  RUPTURE  209 

But  of  course  he  did  not  perceive  that  he  was  too  young, 
not  ripe,  for  such  a  blow.  The  mark  of  destiny  was  on 
his  features,  and  it  was  out  of  place  there.  .  .  .  He  had 
lost  Marguerite.  And  what  had  he  lost?  What  was 
there  in  her?  She  was  not  brilliant;  she  had  no  posi- 
tion ;  she  had  neither  learning  nor  wit.  He  could  re- 
member nothing  remarkable  that  they  had  ever  said  to 
each  other.  Indeed,  their  conversations  had  generally 
been  rather  banal.  But  he  could  remember  how  they 
had  felt,  how  he  had  felt,  in  their  hours  together.  The 
sensation  communicated  to  him  by  her  hand  when  he 
had  drawn  off  her  glove  in  the  tremendous  silence  of  the 
hansom  !  Marvellous,  exquisite,  magical  sensation  that 
no  words  of  his  could  render !  And  there  had  been 
others  as  rare.  These  scenes  were  love :  thev  were 
Marguerite ;  they  were  what  he  had  lost.  .  .  .  Strange, 
that  he  should  throw  the  ring  into  the  river !  Never- 
theless it  was  a  right  gesture.  She  deserved  it.  She 
was  absolutely  wrong ;  he  was  absolutely  right, —  she 
had  admitted  it.  Towards  him  she  had  no  excuse. 
Logically  her  attitude  was  absurd.  Yet  no  argument 
would  change  it.  Stupid, —  that  was  what  she  was ! 
Stupid !  And  ruthless !  She  would  be  capable  of 
martyrising  the  whole  world  to  her  sense  of  dutv,  her 
damnable,  insane  sense  of  duty.  .  .  .  She  was  gone. 
He  was  ruined ;  she  had  ruined  him.  But  he  respected 
her.      He  hated  to  respect  her,  but  he  respected  her. 

A  thought  leapt  up  in  his  mind, —  and  who  could  have 
guessed  it  ?  It  was  the  thought  that  the  secrecy  of  the 
engagement  would  save  him  from  a  great  deal  of  public 
humiliation.  He  would  have  loathed  saying:  "We've 
broken  it  off." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

INSPIEATION 


George,  despite  his  own  dispositions,  as  he  went  up  in 
the  lift,  to  obviate  the  danger  of  such  a  mishap,  was  put 
out  of  countenance  by  the  overwhehning  splendour  of 
Miss  Irene  Wheeler's  flat.  And  he  did  not  quite  re- 
cover his  aplomb  until  the  dinner  was  nearly  finished. 
The  rooms  were  very  large  and  lofty ;  they  blazed  with 
electric  light,  though  the  day  had  not  yet  gone ;  they 
gleamed  with  the  polish  of  furniture,  enamel,  book- 
bindings, marble,  ivory  and  precious  metals ;  they  were 
ennobled  by  magnificent  pictures,  and  purified  by  im- 
mense quantities  of  lovely  flowers.  George  had  made 
the  mistake  of  arriving  last.  He  found  in  the  vast 
drawing-room  five  people  who  had  the  air  of  being  at 
home  and  intimate  together.  Tlicre  were,  in  addition 
to  the  hostess,  Lois  and  Laurencine  Ingram,  Everard 
Lucas,  and  a  Frenchman  from  the  F^rcnch  Embassy 
whose  name  he  did  not  catch.  Miss  Wheeler  wore  an 
elaborate  oriental  costume,  and  apologised  for  its  sim- 
plicity on  the  grounds  that  she  was  fatigued  by  a 
crowded  and  tiresome  reception  which  she  had  held  that 
afternoon,  and  that  the  dinner  was  to  be  without  cere- 
mony. This  said,  her  conversation  seemed  to  fail,  but 
she  remained  by  George's  side,  apart  from  the  others. 
George  saw  not  the  least  vestige  of  the  ruinous  disorder 
which  in  the  society  to  which  he  was  accustomed  usually 
accompanied  a  big  afternoon  tea,  or  any  sign  of  a  lack 

of  ceremony.      He  had  encountered  two  male  servants 

210 


INSPIRATION  211 

in  the  hall,  and  had  also  glimpsed  a  mulatto  woman  in  a 
black  dress  and  a  white  apron,  and  a  Frenchwoman  in 
a  black  dress  and  a  black  apron.  Now  a  third  manserv- 
ant entered,  bearing  an  enormous  silver-gilt  tray  on 
which  were  multitudinous  bottles,  glasses,  decanters,  and 
jugs.  George  comprehended  that  aperitifs  were  being 
offered.  The  tray  contained  enough  cocktails  and  other 
combinations,  some  already  mingled  and  some  not,  to 
produce  a  factitious  appetite  in  the  stomachs  of  a 
whole  platoon.  The  girls  declined,  Miss  Wheeler  de- 
clined, the  Frenchman  declined,  George  declined  (from 
prudence  and  diffidence)  ;  only  Lucas  took  an  aperitif, 
and  he  took  it,  as  George  admitted,  in  style.  The  man- 
servant, superbly  indifferent  to  refusals,  marched  pro- 
cessionally  off  with  the  loaded  tray.  The  great  prin- 
ciple of  conspicuous  ritualistic  waste  had  been  illustrated 
in  a  manner  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  standard  of  the 
leisured  class;  and  incidentally  a  subject  of  talk  was 
provided. 

George  observed  the  name  of  "  Renoir  "  on  the  gor- 
geous frame  of  a  gorgeous  portrait  in  oils  of  the  hostess. 

"Is  that  a  Renoir?"  he  asked  the  taciturn  Miss 
Wheeler,  who  seemed  to  jump  at  the  opening  with  relief. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  her  slight  lisp.  "  I'm  glad  you 
noticed  it.  Come  and  look  at  it.  Do  you  think  it's  a 
good  one?     Do  you  like  Renoir?  " 

By  good  fortune  George  had  seen  a  Renoir  or  two  in 
Paris  under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Enwright.  They 
stared  at  the  portrait  together. 

"  It's  awfully  distinguished,"  he  decided,  employing  a 
useful  adjective  which  he  had  borrowed  from  Mr.  En- 
wright. 

"  Isn't  it ! "  she  said,  turning  her  wondrous  com- 
plexion towards  him,  and  admiring  his  adjective.  "  I 
have  a  Boldini,  too." 


212  THE  ROLL-CALL 

He  followed  her  across  the  room  to  the  Boldini  por- 
trait of  herself,  which  was  dazzling  in  its  malicious 
flattery. 

"  And  here's  a  Nicholson,"  she  said. 

These  three  portraits  were  the  most  striking  pictures 
in  the  salon,  but  there  were  others  of  at  least  equal 
value. 

"Are  you  interested  in  fans.''"  she  demanded,  and 
pulled  down  a  switch  which  illuminated  the  interior  of 
a  large  cabinet  full  of  fans.  She  pointed  out  fans 
painted  by  Lami,  Glaize,  Jacquemart.  "  That  one  is 
supposed  to  be  a  Lancret,"  she  said.  "  But  I'm  pot 
sure  about  it,  and  I  don't  know  anybody  that  is.  Here's 
the  latest  book  on  the  subject."  She  indicated  Lady 
Charlotte  Schreiber's  work  in  two  volumes  which,  bound 
in  vellum  and  gold,  lay  on  a  table.  *'  But  of  course  it 
only  deals  with  English  fans.  However,  Conder  is  go- 
ing to  do  me  a  couple.  He  was  here  yesterday  to  see 
me  about  them.  Of  course  you  know  him.  What  a 
wonderful  man !  The  only  really  cosmopolitan  artist 
in  England,  I  say,  now  Beardsley's  dead.  I've  got  a 
Siegfried  drawing  by  Beardsley.  He  was  a  great  friend 
of  mine.     I  adored  him." 

"  This  is  a  fine  thing,"  said  George,  touching  a  bronze 
of  a  young  girl,  on  the  same  table  as  the  books. 

"  You  think  so?  "  Miss  Wheeler  responded  uncer- 
tainly. "  I  suppose  it  is.  It's  a  Gilbert.  He  gave  it 
me.  But  do  you  really  think  it  compares  with  this 
Barye?  It  doesn't,  does  it.''  "  She  directed  him  to  an- 
other bronze,  of  a  crouching  cheetah. 

So  she  moved  him  about.  He  was  dazed.  His  mod- 
est supply  of  adjectives  proved  inadequate.  When  she 
paused,  he  murmured: 

"  It's  a  great  room  you've  managed  to  get  here." 

"Ah!"  she  cried  thinly.     "But  you've  no  idea  of 


INSPIRATION  213 

the  trouble  I've  had  over  this  room.  Do  you  know  it's 
really  two  rooms.  I  had  to  take  two  flats  in  order  to 
fix  this  room." 

She  was  launched  on  a  supreme  topic,  and  George 
heard  a  full  history.  She  would  not  have  a  house.  She 
would  have  a  flat.  She  instructed  house-agents  to  find 
for  her  the  best  flat  in  London.  There  was  no  best  flat 
in  London.  London  landlords  did  not  understand  flats, 
which  were  comprehended  only  in  Paris.  The  least  im- 
perfect flats  in  London  were  two  on  a  floor,  and  as  their 
drawing-rooms  happened  to  be  contiguous  on  their 
longer  sides,  she  had  the  idea  of  leasing  two  intolerable 
flats  so  as  to  obtain  one  flat  that  was  tolerable.  She 
had  had  terrible  difficulties  about  the  central  heating. 
No  flats  in  London  were  centrally'  heated  except  in  the 
corridors  and  on  the  staircases.  However,  she  had 
imposed  her  will  on  the  landlord,  and  radiators  had 
appeared  in  every  room.  George  had  a  vision  of  exces- 
sive wealth  subjugating  the  greatest  artists  and  riding 
with  implacable  egotism  over  the  customs  and  institu- 
tions of  a  city  obstinately  conservative.  The  cost  and 
the  complexity  of  Irene  Wheeler's  existence  amazed  and 
intimidated  George, —  for  this  double  flat  was  only  one 
of  her  residences.  He  wondered  what  his  parents  would 
say  if  they  could  see  him  casually  treading  the  oak  par- 
quetry and  the  heavy  rugs  of  the  resplendent  abode. 
And  then  he  thought,  the  humble  and  suspicious  upstart : 
**  There  must  be  something  funny  about  her,  or  she 
wouldn't  be  asking  me  here !  " 

They  went  in  to  dinner,  without  ceremony.  George 
was  last,  the  hostess  close  to  his  side. 

"  Who's  the  Frenchman?  "  he  enquired  casually,  with 
the  sudden  boldness  that  often  breaks  out  of  timidity, 
"  I  didn't  catch." 

"  It's  Monsieur  Defourcambault,"  said  Miss  Wheeler 


214  THE  ROLL-CALL 

in  a  low  voice  of  sincere  admiration.  "  He's  from  the 
Embassy.  A  most  interesting  man.  Been  everywhere. 
Seen  everything.  Read  everything.  Done  every- 
thing." 

George  could  not  but  be  struck  by  the  ingenuous 
earnestness  of  her  tone,  so  different  from  the  perfunc- 
tory accents  in  which  she  had  catalogued  her  objects  of 
art.  The  dining-room,  the  dinner,  and  the  service  of 
the  dinner  were  equally  superb.  The  broad  table 
seemed  small  in  the  midst  of  the  great  m^'sterious  cham- 
ber, of  which  the  illumination  was  confined  bj'  shades  to 
the  centre.  The  glance  wandering  round  the  obscurity 
of  the  walls  could  rest  on  nothing  that  was  not  obviously 
in  good  taste  and  very  costly.  The  three  menservants, 
moving  soundless  as  phantoms,  brought  burdens  from  a 
hidden  country  behind  a  gigantic  screen,  and  at  inter- 
vals in  the  twilight  near  the  screen  could  be  detected  the 
transient  gleam  of  the  white  apron  of  the  mulatto,  whose 
sex  clashed  delicately  and  piquantly  with  the  grave, 
priest-like  performances  of  the  male  menials.  The  table 
was  of  mahogany  covered  with  a  sheet  of  plate  glass.  A 
large  gold  epergne  glittered  in  the  middle.  Suitably 
dispersed  about  the  rim  of  the  board  were  six  rectangu- 
lar islands  of  pale  lace,  and  on  each  island  lay  a  com- 
plete set  of  the  innumerable  instruments  and  condi- 
ments necessary  to  the  proper  consumption  of  the  meal. 
Thus,  every  diner  dined  independently,  cut  off  from  his 
fellows,  but  able  to  communicate  with  them  across  ex- 
panses of  plate  glass  over  mahogany.  George  was 
confused  by  the  multiplicity  of  metal  tools  and  crystal 
receptacles  —  he  alone  had  four  wine-glasses  —  but  in 
the  handling  of  the  tools  he  was  saved  from  shame  by 
remembering  the  maxim, —  a  masterpiece  of  terse  clar- 
ity worthy  of  a  class  which  has  given  its  best  brains 


INSPIRATION  215 

to  the  perfecting  of  the  formahties  preliminary  to  deg- 
lutition :     "  Take  always  from  the  outside." 

The  man  from  the  French  Embassy  sat  on  the  right 
of  the  hostess,  and  George  on  her  left.  George  had 
Lois  Ingram  on  his  left,  Laurencine  was  opposite  her 
sister.  Everard  Lucas,  by  command  of  the  hostess,  had 
taken  the  foot  of  the  table  and  was  a  sort  of  "  Mr. 
Vice."  The  six  people  were  soon  divided  into  two  equal 
groups,  one  silent  and  the  other  talkative,  the  talkative 
three  being  M.  Defourcambault,  Laurencine,  and  Lucas. 
The  diplomatist,  though  he  could  speak  diplomatic 
English,  persisted  in  speaking  French.  Laurencine 
spoke  French  quite  perfectly,  with  exactly  the  same 
idiomatic  ease  as  the  Frenchman.  Lucas  neither  spoke 
nor  understood  French, —  he  had  been  to  a  great  public 
school.  Nevertheless  these  three  attained  positive  lo- 
quacity. Lucas  guessed  at  words,  or  the  Frenchman 
obliged  with  bits  of  English,  or  Laurencine  interpreted. 
Laurencine  was  far  less  prim  and  far  more  girlish  than 
at  the  Cafe  Royal  dinner.  She  kept  all  the  freshness  of 
her  intensely  virginal  quality,  but  she  was  at  ease.  Her 
rather  large  body  was  at  ease,  continually  restless  in 
awkward  and  exquisite  gestures ;  she  laughed  at  ease, 
and  made  fun  at  ease.  She  appeared  to  have  no  sex- 
consciousness,  nor  even  to  suspect  that  she  was  a  most 
delightful  creature.  The  conversation  was  disjointed 
in  its  gaiety,  and  had  no  claim  to  the  attention  of  the 
serious.  Laurencine  said  that  Lucas  ought  really  to 
know  French.  Lucas  said  he  would  learn  if  she  would 
teach  him.  Laurencine  said  that  she  would  teach  him 
if  he  would  have  his  first  lesson  instantly,  during  dinner. 
Lucas  said  that  wasn't  fair.  Laurencine  said  that  it 
was.  Both  of  them  appealed  to  M.  Defourcambault. 
M.  Defourcambault  said  that  it  was  fair.     Lucas  said 


216  THE  ROLL-CALL 

that  there  was  a  plot  between  them,  but  that  he  would 
consent  to  learn  at  once  if  Laurencine  would  play  the 
piano  for  him  after  dinner.  Laurencine  said  she  didn't 
play.  Lucas  said  she  did.  M.  Defourcambault,  in- 
voked once  again,  said  that  she  played  magnificently. 
Laurencine  blushed  and  asked  M.  Defourcambault  how 
he  could!  .  .  .  And  so  on,  indefinitely.  It  was  all 
naught,  yet  the  taciturn  three,  smiling  indulgently  and 
glancing  from  one  to  another  of  the  talkers,  as  taciturn 
and  constrained  persons  must,  envied  that  peculiar  abil- 
ity to  maintain  a  rush  and  gush  of  chatter. 

George  was  greatly  disappointed  in  Lois.  In  the 
period  before  dinner  his  eyes  had  avoided  her,  and  now, 
since  they  sat  side  by  side,  he  could  not  properly  see  her 
without  deliberately  looking  at  her;  which  he  would 
not  do.  She  gave  no  manifestation.  She  was  almost 
glum.  Her  French,  though  free,  was  markedly  inferior 
to  Laurencine's.  She  denied  any  interest  in  music. 
George  decided,  with  self-condemnation,  that  he  had 
been  deliberately  creating  in  his  own  mind  an  illusion 
about  her ;  on  no  other  hypothesis  could  either  his  im- 
patience to  meet  her  to-night,  or  his  disappointment 
at  not  meeting  her  on  the  night  of  the  Cafe  Royal  din- 
ner, be  explained.  She  was  nothing,  after  all.  And 
he  did  not  deeply  care  for  Miss  Irene  Wheeler,  whom  he 
could  watch  at  will.  She  might  be  concealing  something 
very  marvellous,  but  she  was  dull,  and  she  ignored  the 
finer  responsibilities  of  a  hostess.  She  collected  many 
beautiful  things ;  she  had  some  knowledge  of  what  they 
were ;  she  must  be  interested  in  them  —  or  why  should 
she  trouble  to  possess  them?  She  must  have  taste. 
And  yet  had  she  taste?  Was  she  interested  in  her 
environment?  A  tone,  a  word,  will  create  suspicion 
that  the  exhibition  of  expertise  for  hours  can  not  allay, 
George  did  not  like  the  Frenchman.     The  Frenchman 


INSPIRATION  217 

was  about  thirty, —  small,  thin,  fair,  with  the  worn  face 
of  the  man  who  lives  several  lives  at  once.  He  did  not 
look  kind ;  he  did  not  look  reliable ;  and  he  offered  little 
evidence  in  support  of  Miss  Wheeler's  ardent  assertion 
that  he  had  been  everywhere,  seen  everything,  read 
everything,  done  everything.  He  assuredly  had  not, 
for  example,  read  Verlaine,  who  was  mentioned  by  Miss 
Wheeler.  Now  George  had  read  one  or  two  poems  of 
Verlaine,  and  thought  them  unique ;  hence  he  despised 
M.  Defourcambault.  He  could  read  French,  in  a  way, 
but  he  was  incapable  of  speaking  a  single  word  of  it  in 
the  presence  of  compatriots ;  the  least  monosyllable 
would  have  died  on  his  lips.  He  was  absurdly  envious 
of  those  who  could  speak  two  languages ;  he  thought 
sometimes  that  he  would  prefer  to  be  able  to  speak  two 
languages  than  to  do  anything  else  in  the  world ;  not  to 
be  able  to  speak  two  languages  humiliated  him  intensely ; 
he  decided  to  "  take  up  French  seriously  "  on  the  mor- 
row, but  he  had  several  times  arrived  at  a  similar  de- 
cision. 

If  Lois  was  glum,  George,  too,  was  glum.  He  wished 
he  had  not  come  to  the  dinner;  he  wished  he  could  be 
magically  transported  to  the  solitude  of  his  room  at  the 
club.  He  slipped  into  a  reverie  about  the  Marguerite 
affair.  Nobody  could  have  divined  that  scarcely 
twenty  four  hours  earlier  he  had  played  a  principal  part 
in  a  tragedy  affecting  his  whole  life.  He  had  borne  the 
stroke  better  than  he  otherwise  would  have  done,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  nobody  knew  of  his  trouble.  He  had 
not  to  arrange  his  countenance  for  the  benefit  of  people 
who  were  aware  what  was  behind  the  countenance.  But 
also  he  was  philosophical.  He  recognised  that  the  Mar- 
guerite affair  was  over.  She  would  never  give  way,  and 
he  would  never  give  way.  She  was  wrong.  He  had 
been  victimized.     He  had  behaved  with  wisdom  and  with 


218  THE  ROLL-CALL 

correctness  (save  for  the  detail  of  throwing  the  ring 
into  the  Thames).  Agg's  warnings  and  injunctions 
were  ridiculous.  What  could  he  have  done  that  he  had 
not  done.f*  Run  away  with  ^Marguerite,  carry  her  off? 
Silly !  No,  he  was  well  out  of  the  affair.  He  perceived 
the  limitations  of  the  world  in  which  Marguerite  lived. 
It  was  a  world  too  small  and  too  austere  for  him.  He 
required  the  spaciousness  and  the  splendour  of  the  new 
world  in  which  Irene  Wheeler  and  the  Ingrams  lived  — 
yea,  though  it  was  a  world  that  excited  the  sardonic  in 
him.  He  liked  it.  It  flattered  authentic  if  unsuspected 
appetites  in  him.  Still,  the  image  of  Marguerite  inhab- 
ited his  memory.  He  saw  her  as  she  stood  between  him- 
self and  old  Haim  in  the  basement  of  No.  8.  He  heard 
her.  .  .  .  She  was  absolutely  unlike  any  other  girl ;  she 
was  so  gentle,  so  acquiescent.  Only  she  put  her  lover 
second  to  her  father.  .  .  .  What  would  Miss  Wheeler 
think  of  the  basement  of  No.  8? 

The  chatterers,  apropos  of  songs  in  musical  comedies, 
were  talking  about  a  French  popular  song  concerning 
Boulanger. 

"You  knew  Boulanger,  didn't  you,  Jules.''"  Miss 
Wheeler  suggested. 

M.  Defourcambault  looked  round,  content.  He  re- 
lated in  English  how  his  father  had  been  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  Boulangist  movement,  and  had  predicted 
disaster  to  the  General's  cause  from  the  instant  that 
Madame  de  Bonncmain  came  on  the  scene.  (Out  of 
consideration  for  the  girls,  M.  Defourcambault  phrased 
his  narrative  with  neat  discretion.)  His  grandfather 
also  had  been  of  his  father's  opinion,  and  his  grand- 
father was  in  the  Senate,  and  had  been  Minister  at 
Brussels.  .  .  .  He  affirmed  that  Madame  de  Bonne- 
main  had  telegraphed  to  Boulanger  to  leave  Paris  at  the 
very  moment  when  his  presence  in  Paris  was  essential, 


INSPIRATION  219 

and  Boulanger  had  obediently  gone.  He  said  that  he 
always  remembered  what  his  mother  had  said  to  him : 
a  clever  woman  irregularly  in  love  with  a  man  may 
make  his  fortune,  but  a  stupid  woman  is  certain  to  ruin 
it.  Finally  he  related  how  he,  Jules  Defourcambault, 
had  driven  the  General's  carriage  on  a  famous  occasion, 
through  Paris,  and  how  the  populace  in  its  frenzy  of 
idolatry  had  even  climbed  on  to  the  roof  of  the  carriage. 

"  And  what  did  you  do,  then?  "  George  demanded  in 
the  hard  tone  of  a  cross-examiner. 

"  I  drove  straight  on,"  said  M.  Defourcambault,  re- 
turning George's  cold  stare. 

This  close  glimpse  into  history  —  into  politics  and 
passion  —  excited  George  considerably.  He  was  fu- 
riously envious  of  M.  Defourcambault,  who  had  been 
in  the  middle  of  things  all  his  life,  whose  father,  mother 
and  grandfather  were  all  in  the  middle  of  things.  M. 
Defourcambault  had  an  immense  and  unfair  advantage 
over  him.  To  whatever  heights  he  might  rise,  George 
would  never  be  in  a  position  to  talk  as  M.  Defourcam- 
bault talked  of  his  forbears.  He  would  always  have  to 
stand  alone,  and  to  fight  for  all  he  wanted.  He  could 
not  even  refer  to  his  father.  He  scorned  M.  Defour- 
cambault because  M.  Defourcambault  was  not  worthy  of 
his  heritage.  M.  Defourcambault  was  a  little  rotter, 
yet  he  had  driven  the  carriage  of  Boulanger  in  a  crisis 
of  the  history  of  France !  Miss  Wheeler,  however,  did 
not  scorn  M.  Defourcambault.  On  the  contrary  she 
looked  at  him  with  admiration,  as  though  he  had  now 
proved  that  he  had  been  everywhere,  seen  everything, 
and  done  everything.  George's  mood  was  black.  He 
was  a  nobody ;  he  would  always  be  a  nobody  ;  why  should 
he  be  wasting  his  time  and  looking  a  fool  in  this  new 
world  ? 


220  THE  ROLL-CALL 


After  dinner,  in  the  drawing-room  which  had  cost 
Irene  Wheeler  an  extra  flat,  there  was,  during  coffee,  a 
certain  amount  of  general  dulness,  slackness,  and  self- 
consciousness  which  demonstrated  once  more  Miss 
Wheeler's  defects  as  a  hostess.  Miss  Wheeler  would 
not  or  could  not  act  as  shepherdess  and  inspirer  to  her 
guests.  She  reclined,  and  charmingly  left  them  to  man- 
ufacture the  evening  for  her.  George  was  still  disap- 
pointed and  disgusted ;  for  he  had  imagined,  very  ab- 
surdly as  he  admitted,  that  artistic  luxuriousness  always 
implied  social  dexterity  and  the  ability  to  energise  and 
reinvigorate  diversion  without  apparent  effort.  There 
were  moments  during  coffee  which  reminded  him  of  the 
maladroit  hospitalities  of  the  Five  Towns. 

Then  Everard  Lucas  opened  the  piano,  and  the  duel 
between  him  and  Laurencine  was  resumed.  The  girl 
yielded.  Electric  lights  were  adjusted.  She  began  to 
play,  while  Lucas,  smoking,  leaned  over  the  piano. 
George  was  standing  by  himself  at  a  little  distance  be- 
hind the  piano.  He  had  perhaps  been  on  his  way  to  a 
chair  wlien  suddenly  caught  and  immobilised  by  one  of 
those  hazards  which  do  notoriously  occur  —  the  victim 
never  remembers  how  —  in  drawing-rooms.  Hands  in 
pockets,  he  looked  aimlessly  about,  smiling  perfunc- 
torily, and  wondering  where  he  should  settle  or  whether 
he  should  remain  where  he  was.  In  the  deep  embrasure 
of  the  large  east  bow-window  Lois  was  lounging.  She 
beckoned  to  him,  not  with  her  hand  but  with  a  brief, 
bright  smile  —  she  smiled  rarely  —  and  with  a  lifting 
of  the  chin.  He  responded  alertly  and  pleasurably, 
and  went  to  sit  beside  her.  Such  invitations  from 
young  women  holding  themselves  apart  in  obscurity  are 
never  received  without  excitement  and  never  unanswered. 


INSPIRATION  221 

Crimson  curtains  of  brocaded  silk  would  have  cut  off 
the  embrasure  entirely  from  the  room  had  they  been 
fully  drawn,  but  they  were  not  fully  drawn ;  one  was 
not  drawn  at  all,  and  the  other  was  only  half  drawn. 
Still,  the  mere  fact  of  the  curtains,  drawn  or  undrawn, 
did  morally  separate  the  embrasure  from  the  salon ;  and 
the  shadows  thickened  in  front  of  the  window.  The 
smile  had  gone  from  Lois'  face,  but  it  had  been  there. 
Sequins  glittered  on  her  dark  dress,  the  line  of  the  low 
neck  of  which  was  distinct  against  the  pallor  of  the  flesh. 
George  could  follow  the  outlines  of  her  slanted  plump 
body  from  the  hair  and  freckled  face  down  to  the  elab- 
orate shoes.  The  eyes  were  half-closed.  She  did  not 
speak.  The  figure  of  Laurencine,  whose  back  was  to- 
wards the  window,  received  an  aura  from  the  electric 
light  immediately  over  the  music-stand  of  the  piano. 
She  played  brilliantly.  She  played  with  a  brilliance 
that  astonished  George.  .  .  .  She  was  exceedingly 
clever,  was  this  awkward  girl  who  had  not  long  since 
left  school.  Her  body  might  be  awkward,  but  not  her 
hands.  The  music  radiated  from  the  piano  and  filled 
the  room  with  brightness,  with  the  illusion  of  the  joy  of 
life,  and  with  a  sense  of  triumph.  To  George  it  was  an 
intoxication. 

A  manservant  entered  with  a  priceless  collection  of 
bon-bons,  some  of  which  he  deferentially  placed  on  a 
small  table  in  the  embrasure.  To  do  so  he  had  to  come 
in  to  the  embrasure,  disturbing  the  solitude,  which  had 
already  begun  to  exist,  of  Lois  and  George.  He  ig- 
nored the  pair.  His  sublime  indifference  seemed  to  say : 
"  I  am  beyond  good  and  evil."  But  at  the  same  time  it 
left  them  more  sensitively  awake  to  themselves  than  be- 
fore. The  hostess  indolently  muttered  an  order  to  the 
man,  and  in  passing  the  door  on  his  way  out  he  ex- 
tinguished several  lights.     The  place  and  the  hour  grew 


222  THE  ROLL-CALL 

romantic.  George  was  impressed  by  the  scene,  and  he 
eagerly  allowed  it  to  impress  him.  It  was,  to  him,  a 
marvellous  scene:  the  splendour  of  the  apartment,  the 
richly  attired  girls,  the  gay  exciting  music,  the  spots  of 
high  light,  the  glooms,  the  glimpses  everj'where  of 
lovely  objects.  He  said  to  himself:  "I  was  born  for 
this." 

Lois  turned  her  head  slowly  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

"  Wonderful  view  from  here,"  she  murmured. 

George  turned  his  head.  The  flat  was  on  the  sixth 
storey.  The  slope  of  central  London  lay  beneath. 
There  was  no  moon,  but  there  were  stars  in  a  clear 
night.  Roofs  ;  lighted  windows  ;  lines  of  lighted  traffic; 
lines  of  lamps  patterning  the  invisible  meadows  of  a 
park ;  hiatuses  of  blackness ;  beyond,  several  towers 
scarcely  discernible  against  the  sky, —  the  towers  of 
Parliament,  and  the  high  tower  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Cathedral :  these  were  London. 

"  You  haven't  seen  it  in  daytime,  have  you?  "  said 
Lois. 

"  No.     I'd  sooner  see  it  at  night." 

"  So  would  I." 

The  reply,  the  sympathy  in  it,  the  soft  thrilled  tone 
of  it,  startled  him.  His  curiosity  about  Lois  was  being 
justified,  after  all.  And  he  was  startled  too  at  the 
extraordinary  surprises  of  his  own  being.  Yesterday 
he  had  parted  from  Marguerite ;  not  ten  years  ago,  but 
yesterday.  And  now  already  he  was  conscious  of  pleas- 
ure both  physical  and  spiritual  in  the  voice  of  another 
girl  heard  in  the  withdrawn  obscurity  of  the  embrasure. 
Yes,  and  a  girl  whom  he  had  despised !  Yesterday  he 
had  seriously  believed  himself  to  be  a  celibate  for  life; 
he  had  dismissed  for  ever  the  hope  of  happiness.  He 
had  seen  naught  but  a  dogged  and  eternal  infelicity. 


INSPIRATION  223 

And  now  he  was,  if  not  finding  happiness,  expecting  it. 
He  felt  disloyal  —  less  precisely  to  Marguerite  than  to 
a  vanished  ideal.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  be  ashamed. 
For  Marguerite  still  existed;  she  was  existing  at  that 
moment  less  than  three  miles  off  —  somewhere  over  there 
in  the  dark. 

"  See  the  cathedral  tower?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  WTiat  a  shame  Bentley  died, 
wasn't  it?" 

He  was  more  than  startled,  now, —  he  was  amazed  and 
enchanted.  Something  touching  and  strange  in  her 
voice  usually  hard ;  something  in  the  elegant  fragility 
of  her  slipper!  Everybody  knew  that  Bentley  was  the 
architect  of  the  Cathedral  and  that  he  had  died  of  can- 
cer on  the  tongue.  The  knowledge  was  not  esoteric ;  it 
did  not  by  itself  indicate  a  passion  for  architecture  or 
a  comprehension  of  architecture.  Yet  when  she  said 
the  exclamatory  words,  leaning  far  back  in  the  seat,  her 
throat  emerging  from  the  sequined  frock,  her  tapping 
slipper  peeping  out  beneath  the  skirt,  she  cast  a  spell 
on  him.  He  perceived  in  her  a  woman  gifted  and  en- 
dowed. This  was  the  girl  whom  he  had  bullied  in  the 
automobile.  She  must  have  bowed  in  secret  to  his  bully- 
ing; though  he  knew  she  had  been  hurt  by  it,  she  had 
given  no  sign  of  resentment,  and  her  voice  was  acquies- 
cent.    Above  all,  she  had  remembered  him. 

"  You  only  like  doing  very  large  buildings,  don't 
you?  "  she  suggested. 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  Everard." 

"Oh!  Did  old  Lucas  tell  you?  Well,  he's  quite 
right." 

He  had  a  sudden  desire  to  talk  to  her  about  the  great 
municipal  building  in  the  north  that  was  soon  to  be 
competed  for.     He  yielded  to  the  desire.      She  listened, 


224  THE  ROLL-CALL 

motionless.  He  gave  vent  to  his  regret  that  Mr.  En- 
wright  absolutely  declined  to  enter  for  the  competition. 
He  said  he  had  had  ideas  for  it,  and  would  have  liked  to 
work  for  it. 

"  But  why  don't  you  go  in  for  it  3'oursclf,  George?  " 
she  murmured  gravely. 

"Me!"  he  exclaimed,  almost  frightened.  "It 
wouldn't  be  any  good.      I'm  too  young.     Besides " 

"  How  old  are  you?  " 

"  Twenty  one." 

"  Good  heavens  !  You  look  twenty  five  at  least !  I 
know  I  should  go  in  for  it  if  I  were  you  —  if  I  were  a 
man." 

He  understood  her.  She  could  not  talk  well.  She 
could  not  easily  be  agreeable ;  she  could  easily  be  rude ; 
she  could  not  play  the  piano  like  the  delightful  Lauren- 
cine.  But  she  w  as  passionate.  And  she  knew  the  force 
of  ambition.  He  admired  ambition  perhaps  more  than 
anything.  Ambition  roused  him.  She  was  ambitious 
when  she  drove  the  automobile  and  endangered  his  life. 
.  .  .  She  had  called  him  by  his  Christian  name  quite 
naturally.  There  was  absolutely  no  nonsense  about 
her.  Now  Marguerite  was  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
ambitious.     The  word  had  no  significance  for  her. 

"  I  couldn't !  "  he  insisted,  humbly.  "  I  don't  know 
enough.     It's  a  terrific  affair." 

She  made  no  response.  But  she  looked  at  him,  and 
suddenly  he  saw  the  angel  that  Irene  Wheeler  and 
Laurencine  had  so  enthusiastically  spoken  of  at  the 
Cafe  Royal ! 

"  I  couldn't !  "  he  murmured. 

He  was  insisting  too  much.  He  was  insisting  against 
himself.  She  had  implanted  the  idea  in  his  mind.  Why 
had  he  not  thought  of  it?  Certainly  he  had  not  thought 
of  it.     Had  he  lacked  courage  to  think  of  it?     He  be- 


INSPIRATION  225 

held  the  idea  as  though  it  was  an  utterly  original  dis- 
covery, revolutionary,  dismaying,  and  seductive.  His 
inchoate  plans  for  the  building  took  form  afresh  in  his 
brain.  And  the  luxury  b}'  which  he  was  surrounded 
whipped  his  ambition  till  it  writhed. 

Curious,  she  said  no  more !  After  a  moment  she  sat 
up  and  took  a  sweet. 

George  saw,  in  a  far  corner,  Jules  Defourcambault 
talking  very  quietly  to  Irene  Wheeler,  whose  lackadais- 
ical face  had  become  ingenuous  and  ardent  as  she  lis- 
tened to  him  under  the  shelter  of  the  dazzling  music. 
George  felt  himself  to  be  within  the  sphere  of  unguessed 
and  highly  perturbing  forces. 

in 

He  left  early.  Lucas  seemed  to  regard  his  departure 
as  the  act  of  a  traitor,  but  he  insisted  on  leaving.  And 
in  spite  of  Lucas's  great  social  success  he  inwardly 
condescended  to  Lucas.  Lucas  was  not  a  serious  man 
and  could  not  comprehend  seriousness.  George  went 
because  he  had  to  go,  because  the  power  of  an  idea  drove 
him  forth.  He  had  no  intention  of  sleeping.  He 
walked  automatically  through  dark  London,  and  his 
eyes,  turned  within,  saw  nothing  of  the  city.  He  did 
not  walk  quickly  —  he  was  too  preoccupied  to  walk 
quickly  —  yet  in  his  brain  he  was  hurrying,  he  had 
not  a  moment  to  lose.  The  goal  was  immensely  far  off. 
His  haste  was  as  absurd  and  as  fine  as  that  of  a  man 
who,  starting  to  cross  Europe  on  foot,  must  needs  run 
in  order  to  get  out  of  Calais  and  be  fairly  on  his  way. 

At  Russell  Square  he  wondered  whether  he  would  be 
able  to  get  into  the  office.  However,  there  was  still  a 
light  in  the  basement,  and  he  rang  the  house-bell.  The 
housekeeper's  daughter,  a  girl  who  plaA'ed  at  lx>ing  par- 
lourmaid in  the  afternoons  and  brought  bad  tea  and 


226  THE  ROLL-CALL 

thick  bread-and-butter  to  the  privileged  in  the  office, 
opened  the  front-door  with  bridling  exclamations  of  as- 
tonishment. She  had  her  best  frock  on  ;  her  hair  was 
in  curling-pins;  «he  smelt  delicately  of  beer;  the  ex- 
citement of  the  Sunday  Leagne  excursion  and  of  the 
evening's  dalliance  had  not  quite  cooled  in  this  respect- 
able and  experienced  young  creature  of  central  London. 
She  was  very  feminine  and  provocative  and  unparlour- 
maidish,  standing  there  in  the  hall ;  and  George  passed 
by  her  as  callously  as  though  she  had  been  a  real  par- 
lourmaid on  duty.  She  had  to  fly  to  her  mother  for  the 
key  of  the  office.  Taking  the  key  from  the  breathless, 
ardent  little  thing,  he  said  that  he  would  see  to  the  front- 
door being  properly  shut  when  he  went  out.  That  was 
all.  Her  legitimate  curiosity  about  his  visit  had  to  go 
to  bed  hungry. 

In  the  office  he  switched  on  the  lights  in  Haim's 
cubicle,  in  the  pupils'  room,  and  in  the  principals'  room. 
He  enjoyed  the  illumination  and  the  solitude.  He  took 
deep  breaths.  He  walked  about.  After  rummaging 
for  the  sketches  and  the  printed  site-plan  of  the  town- 
hall  projected  by  the  northern  city,  he  discovered  them 
under  John  Orgreave's  desk.  He  moved  them  to  Mr. 
Enwright's  desk,  which  was  the  best  one,  and  he  bent 
over  them  rapturously.  Yes,  the  idea  of  entering  for 
the  competition  himself  was  a  magnificent  idea. 
Strange  that  it  should  have  occurred  not  to  him,  but  to 
Lois !  A  disconcerting  girl,  Lois !  She  had  said  that 
he  looked  twenty  five.  He  liked  that.  Why  should  he 
not  enter  for  the  competition  himself?  He  would  enter 
for  it.  The  decision  was  made,  as  usual  without  con- 
sulting anybody:  instinct  was  his  sole  guide.  Failure 
in  the  final  examination  was  beside  the  point.  More- 
over, though  he  had  sworn  never  to  sit  again,  he  could 
easily  sit  again  in  December ;  he  could  pass  the  exam  on 


INSPIRATION  227 

his  head.  He  might  win  the  competition ;  to  be  even  in 
the  selected  first  six  or  ten  would  rank  as  a  glorious 
achievement.  But  why  should  he  not  win  outright.'^ 
He  was  lucky,  always  had  been  lucky.  It  was  essential 
that  he  should  win  outright.  It  was  essential  that  he 
should  create  vast  and  grandiose  structures,  that  he 
should  have  both  artistic  fame  and  worldly  success.  He 
could  not  wait  loug  for  success.  He  required  luxury. 
He  required  a  position  enabling  him  to  meet  anybody 
and  everybody  on  equal  terms,  and  to  fulfil  all  his 
desires. 

He  would  not  admit  that  he  was  too  young  for  the 
enterprise.  He  was  not  too  young.  He  refused  to  be 
too  young.  And  indeed  he  felt  that  he  had  that  very 
night  become  adult,  and  that  a  new  impulse,  reducing  all 
previous  impulses  to  unimportance,  had  inspired  his 
life.  He  owed  the  impulse  to  the  baffling  Lois.  Mar- 
guerite would  never  have  given  him  such  an  impulse. 
Marguerite  had  no  ambition  either  for  herself  or  for 
him.  She  was  profoundly  the  wrong  girl  for  him.  He 
admitted  his  error  candidly,  with  the  eagerness  of  youth. 
He  had  no  shame  about  the  blunder.  And  the  girl's  en- 
vironment was  wrong  for  him  also.  What  had  he  to  do 
with  Chelsea?  Chelsea  was  a  parish;  it  was  not  the 
world.  He  had  been  gravely  disappointed  in  Chelsea. 
Marguerite  had  no  shimmer  of  romance.  She  was 
homely.  And  she  was  content  with  her  sphere.  And 
she  was  not  elegant ;  she  had  no  kind  of  smartness ;  who 
would  look  twice  at  her?  And  she  was  unjust,  she  was 
unfair.  She  had  lacerated  his  highly  sensitive  pride. 
She  had  dealt  his  conceit  a  frightful  wound.  He  would 
not  think  of  it. 

x\nd  in  fact  he  could  ignore  the  wound  in  the  exquisite 
activity  of  creating  town-halls  for  mighty  municipal- 
ities.    He  drew  plans  with  passion  and  with  fury ;  he 


228  THE  ROLL-CALL 

had  scores  of  alternative  schemes ;  he  was  a  god  fashion- 
ing worlds.  Having  drawn  plans,  he  drew  elevations 
and  perspectives,  he  rushed  to  the  files  (rushed  —  be- 
cause he  was  in  haste  to  reach  the  goal)  and  studied 
afresh  the  schedules  of  accommodation  for  other  munici- 
pal buildings  that  had  been  competed  for  in  the  past. 
Much  as  he  hated  detail,  he  stooped  rather  humbly  to 
detail  that  night,  and  contended  with  it  in  all  honesty. 
He  worked  for  hours  before  he  thought  of  lighting  a 
cigarette. 

It  was  something  uncanny  beyond  the  large  windows 
that  first  gently  and  imperceptibly  began  to  draw  away 
his  mind  from  the  profusion  of  town-halls  on  the  desk, 
and  so  indirectly  reminded  him  of  the  existence  of  cig- 
arettes. When  he  lighted  a  cigarette  he  stretched  him- 
self and  glanced  at  the  dark  windows,  of  which  the 
blinds  had  not  been  pulled  down.  He  understood  then 
what  was  the  matter.  Dawn  was  the  matter.  The 
windows  were  no  longer  quite  dark.  He  looked  out.  A 
faint  pallor  in  the  sky,  and  some  stars  sickening  there- 
in; and  underneath  the  silent  square  with  its  patient 
trees  and  indefatigable  lamps !  The  cigarette  tasted 
bad  in  his  mouth,  but  he  would  not  give  it  up.  He 
yawned  heavily.  The  melancholy  of  the  siquare  await- 
ing without  hope  the  slow,  hard  dawn,  overcame  him 
suddenly.  .  .  .  Marguerite  was  a  beautiful  girl ;  her 
nose  was  marvellous ;  he  could  never  forget  it.  He 
could  never  forget  her  gesture  as  she  intervened  be- 
tween him  and  her  father  in  the  basement  at  Alexandra 
Grove.  They  had  painted  lampshades  together.  She 
was  angelically  kind ;  she  could  not  be  ruffled ;  she  would 
never  criticise,  never  grasp,  never  exhibit  selfishness. 
She  was  a  unique  combination  of  the  serious  and  the 
sensuous.     He  felt  the  passionate,  ecstatic  clinging  of 


INSPIRATION  229 

her  arm  as  they  walked  under  the  interminable  chain  of 
lampposts  on  Chelsea  Embankment.  Magical  hours ! 
.  .  .  And  how  she  could  absorb  herself  in  her  work! 
And  what  a  damned  shame  it  was  that  rascally  em- 
ployers should  have  cut  down  her  prices !  It  was  in- 
tolerable; it  would  not  bear  thinking  about.  He 
dropped  the  cigarette  and  stamped  on  it  angrily.  Then 
he  returned  to  the  desk  and  put  his  head  in  his  hands 
and  shut  his  eyes. 

He  wakened  with  a  start  of  misgiving.  He  was  alone 
in  the  huge  house  (  for  the  basement  was  under  the  house 
and  somehow  did  not  count).  Something  was  astir  in 
the  house.  He  could  hear  it  through  the  doors  ajar. 
His  flesh  crept.  It  was  exactly  like  the  flap  of  a  wash- 
ing-cloth on  the  stone  stairs ;  it  stopped ;  it  came  nearer. 
He  thought  inevitably  of  the  dead  Mrs.  Haim,  once 
charwoman  and  stcpcleaner.  In  an  instant  he  believed 
fully  in  all  that  he  had  ever  heard  about  ghosts  and 
spirit  manifestations.  An  icy  wave  passed  down  his 
spine.  He  felt  that  if  the  phantom  of  Mrs.  Haim  was 
approaching  him  he  simply  could  not  bear  to  meet  it. 
The  ordeal  would  kill  him.  Then  he  decided  that  the 
sounds  were  not  those  of  a  washing-cloth,  but  of  slip- 
pered feet.  Odd  that  he  should  have  been  so  deluded. 
Somebody  was  coming  down  the  long  stairs  from  the 
upper  storeys,  uninhabited  at  night.  Burglars?  He 
was  still  very  perturbed,  but  differently  perturbed. 
He  could  not  move  a  muscle.  The  suspense  as  the  foot- 
steps hesitated  at  the  cubicle  was  awful.  George  stood 
up  straight  and  called  out  in  a  rough  voice, —  louder 
than  he  expected  it  to  be : 

"  Who's  there.?  " 

Mr.  Enwright  appeared.  He  was  wearing  beautiful 
blue  pyjamas  and  a  plum-coloured  silk  dressing-gown 


230  THE  ROLL-CALL 

and  doeskin  slippers.  His  hair  was  extremely  de- 
ranged ;  he  blinked  rapidlj,  and  his  lined  face  seemed 
very  old. 

"  WeU,  I  like  this,  I  like  this !  "  he  said  in  a  quiet, 
sardonic  tone,  "  Sitting  at  my  desk  and  blazing  my 
electricity  away !  I  happened  to  get  up,  and  I  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  noticed  the  glare  below.  So  I 
came  to  see  what  was  afoot.  Do  you  know  yoxi  fright- 
ened me,  and  I  don't  like  being  frightened?  " 

"  I  hadn't  the  slightest  notion  you  ever  slept  here," 
George  feebly  stammered. 

"  Didn't  you  know  I'd  decided  to  keep  a  couple  of 
rooms  here  for  myself?  " 

"  I  had  heard  something  about  it,  but  I  didn't  know 
you'd  really  moved  in.     I  —  I've  been  away  so  much." 

"  I  moved  in,  as  you  call  it,  to-day  —  yesterday,  and 
a  nice  night  you're  giving  me !  And  even  supposing  I 
hadn't  moved  in,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  your  being 
here?     Give  me  a  cigarette." 

With  hurrying  deference  George  gave  the  cigarette, 
and  struck  a  match  for  it,  and  as  he  held  the  match  he 
had  a  near  view  of  Mr.  Enwright's  prosaic  unshaven 
chin.  The  house  was  no  longer  the  haunt  of  lurking 
phantoms ;  it  was  a  common  worldly  house  without  any 
mystery  or  any  menace.  George's  skin  was  no  longer 
the  field  of  abnormal  phenomena.  Dawn  was  conquer- 
ing Russell  Square.  On  the  other  hand,  George  was  no 
longer  a  giant  of  energy,  initiating  out  of  ample  experi- 
ence a  tremendous  and  superb  enterprise.  He  was  sud- 
denly diminished  to  a  boy,  or  at  best  a  lad.  He  really 
felt  that  it  was  ridiculous  for  him  to  be  sketching  and 
scratching  away  there  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  his 
dress  clothes.  Even  his  overcoat,  hat,  and  fancy  muffler 
cast  on  a  chair  seemed  ridiculous.  He  was  a  child,  pre- 
tending to  be  an  adult.     He  glanced  like  a  child  at  Mr. 


INSPIRATION  281 

Enwright;  he  roughened  his  hair  with  his  hand  like  a 
child.     He  had  the  most  wistful  and  apologetic  air. 

He  said : 

"  I  just  came  along  here  for  a  bit  instead  of  going  to 
bed.     I  didn't  know  it  was  so  late." 

"  Do  you  often  just  come  along  here?  " 

"  No.     I  never  did  it  before.     But  to-night " 

"  What  is  it  you're  atf  " 

"  I'd  been  tliinking  a  bit  about  that  new  town-hall." 

"  What  new  town-hall?  " 

"  You  know " 

Mr.  Enwright  did  know. 

"  But  haven't  I  even  yet  succeeded  in  making  it  clear 
that  this  firm  is  not  going  in  for  that  particular  com- 
petition? '* 

Mr.  Enwright's  sarcastic  and  discontented  tone  chal- 
lenged George,  who  stiffened. 

"  Oh !  I  know  the  firm  isn't  going  in  for  it.  But 
what's  the  matter  with  me  going  in  for  it  ?  " 

He  forced  himself  to  meet  Mr.  Enwright's  eyes,  but 
he  could  not  help  blushing.  He  was  scarcely  out  of  his 
articles ;  he  had  failed  in  the  Final ;  and  he  aspired  to 
create  the  largest  English  public  building  of  the  last 
half  century. 

"  Arc  3'ou  quite  mad?  "  Mr.  Enwright  turned  away 
from  the  desk  to  the  further  window,  hiding  his  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Yes,"  said  George  firmly.      "  Quite  !  " 

Mr.  Enwright,  after  a  pause,  came  back  to  the  desk. 

"  Well,  it's  something  to  admit  that,"  he  sneered. 
"  At  any  rate,  we  know  where  we  are.  Let's  have  a 
look  at  the  horrid  mess." 

He  made  a  number  of  curt  observations  as  he 
handled  the  sheets  of  sketches. 

"  I  see  3'ou've  got  that  Saracenic  touch  in  again. 


232  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  What's  the  scale  here? 

"  Is  this  really  a  town-hall,  or  are  you  trying  to  beat 
the  Temple  at  Karnak? 

"  If  that's  meant  for  an  Ionic  capital,  no  assessor 
would  stand  it.  It's  against  all  the  text  books  to  have 
Ionic  capitals  where  there's  a  side  view  of  them.  Not 
that  it  matters  to  me. 

"  Have  you  made  the  slightest  attempt  to  cube  it  up  ? 
You'd  never  get  out  of  this  under  half  a  million,  you 
know." 

Shaking  his  head,  he  retired  once  more  to  the  win- 
dow. George  began  to  breathe  more  freely,  as  one  who 
has  fronted  danger  and  still  lives.  Mr.  Enwright  ad- 
dressed the  window : 

"  It's  absolute  folly  to  start  on  a  thing  like  that  be- 
fore the  conditions  are  out.  Absolute  folly.  Have 
you  done  all  that  to-night.''  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you've  shifted  the  stuff.  .  .  .  But  you  haven't 
the  slightest  notion  what  accommodation  they  want. 
You  simply  don't  know." 

"  I  know  what  accommodation  they  ought  to  want, 
with  four  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,"  George  re- 
torted, pugnaciously. 

"Is  it  four  hundred?"  Mr.  Enwright  asked  with 
bland  innocence.  He  generally  left  statistics  to  his 
partner. 

"  And  twent}^  five." 

"You've  looked  it  up?" 

"  I  have." 

Mr.  Enwright  was  now  at  the  desk  yet  again. 

"  There's  an  idea  to  it,"  he  said  shortly,  holding  up 
the  principal  sheet  and  blinking. 

"  /  shall  go  in  for  it!  "  The  thought  swept  through 
George's  brain  like  a  fierce  flare,  lighting  it  up  vividly 


INSPIRATION  233 

to  its  darkest  corners,  and  incidentally  producing  upon 
his  skin  phenomena  similar  to  those  produced  by  un- 
canny sounds  on  the  staircase.  He  had  caught  admira- 
tion and  benevolence  in  Mr.  Enwright's  voice.  He  was 
intensely  happy,  encouraged,  and  proud.  He  began 
to  talk  eagerly ;  he  babbled,  entrusting  himself  to  Mr. 
Enwright's  benevolence. 

"  Of  course  there's  the  Final,  If  they  give  six 
months  for  the  thing  I  could  easily  get  through  the  Final 
before  sending-in  day.  I  could  take  a  room  somewhere. 
I  shouldn't  really  want  any  assistance  —  clerk,  I  mean. 
I  could  do  it  all  myself.  .  .  ."  He  ran  on  until  Mr. 
Enwright  stopped  him. 

"  You  could  have  a  room  here  —  upstairs." 

"Could  I?" 

"  But  you  would  want  some  help.  And  you  needn't 
think  they'll  give  six  months,  because  they  won't.  They 
might  give  five." 

"  That's  no  good." 

''Why  isn't  it  any  good.?"  snapped  Mr.  Enwright. 
"  You  don't  suppose  they're  going  to  issue  the  condi- 
tions just  yet,  do  you.?  Not  a  day  before  September, 
not  a  day.     And  you  can  take  it  from  me !  " 

"Ohl'   Hurrah!" 

"  But  look  here,  my  boy,  let's  be  clear  about  one 
thing." 

"Yes.?" 

"  You're  quite  mad." 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

"  The  harmless  kind,  though,"  said  George  confi- 
dently, well  aware  that  Mr.  Enwright  doted  upon  him. 

In  another  minute  the  principal  had  gone  to  bed, 
without  having  uttered  one  word  as  to  his  health. 
George  had  announced  that  he  should  tidy  the  sacred 
desk  before  departing.     When  he  had  done  that  he  wrote 


234  THE  ROLL-CALL 

a  letter,  in  pencil.  "  It's  the  least  I  can  do,"  he  said  to 
himself  seriously.  He  began :  "  Dear  Miss  Ingram." 
"  Dash  it !  She  calls  me  '  George,'  "  he  thought,  and 
tore  up  the  sheet.  "  Dear  Lois.  I  think  after  what 
you  said  it's  only  due  to  you  to  tell  you  that  I've  decided 
to  go  in  for  that  competition  on  my  own.  Thanks  for 
the  tip.     Yours.     George  Cannon." 

He  surveyed  the  message. 

"  That's  about  right,"  he  murmured. 

Then  he  looked  at  his  watch.  It  showed  3.15,  but  it 
had  ceased  to  beat.  He  added  at  the  foot  of  the  letter : 
"  Monda}'^,  3.30  a.  m."  He  stole  one  of  John  Orgreave's 
ready-stamped  envelopes. 

In  quitting  the  house  he  inadvertently  banged  the 
heavy  front-door. 

"  Do  'em  good ! "  he  said,  thinking  of  awakened 
sleepers. 

It  was  now  quite  light.  He  dropped  the  letter  into 
the  pillar-box  round  the  corner,  and  as  soon  as  he  had 
irretrievably  done  so,  the  thought  occurred  to  him :  "  I 
wish  I  hadn't  put  '  3.30  a.  m.'  There's  something  rot- 
tenly sentimental  about  it."  The  chill  fresh  air  was 
bracing  him  to  a  more  perfect  sanity.  He  raised  the 
collar  of  his  overcoat. 

IV 

At  the  club  on  Tuesday  morning  Downs  brought  to 
his  bedside  a  letter  addressed  in  a  large,  striking,  and 
untidy  hand.  Not  until  he  had  generally  examined  the 
letter  did  he  realise  that  it  was  from  Lois  Ingram.  He 
remembered  having  mentioned  to  her  that  he  lived  at  his 
club  —  Pickering's;  but  he  had  laid  no  stress  on  the 
detail,  nor  had  she  seemed  to  notice  it.  Yet  she  must 
have  noticed  it.  "  Dear  George.  I  am  so  glad.  Miss 
Wheeler  is  going  to  her  bootmaker's  in  Conduit  Street 


INSPIRATION  235 

to-morrow  afternoon.  Slic's  always  such  a  long  time 
there.  Come  and  have  tea  with  me  at  the  new  Prosser's 
in  Regent  Street,  four  sharp.  I  shall  have  half  an  hour. 
L.  I."  In  his  heart  he  pretended  to  jeer  at  this  letter. 
He  said  it  was  "  like  "  Lois.  She  calmly  assumed  that 
at  a  sign  from  her  he,  a  busy  man,  would  arrange  to  be 
free  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon !  Doubtless  the  let- 
ter was  the  consequence  of  putting  "  3.30  a.  m."  on  his 
own  letter.     What  could  a  follow  expect.-^  .  .  . 

All  pretence!  In  realitv'  the  letter  flattered  and  ex- 
cited him.     He  thought  upon  the  necktie  he  would  -wear. 

By  the  same  post  arrived  a  small  parcel :  it  contained 
a  ring,  a  few  other  bits  of  jewellery,  and  all  the  letters 
and  notes  that  he  had  ever  written  or  scribbled  to  Mar- 
guerite. He  did  not  want  the  jewellery  back  ;  he  did  not 
want  the  letters  back.  To  receive  them  somehow  hu- 
miliated him.  Surely  she  might  have  omitted  this 
nauseous  conventionality !  She  was  so  exasperatingly 
conscientious.  Her  neat  clerk-like  calligraphy,  on  the 
label  of  the  parcel,  exasperated  him.  She  had  carefully 
kept  every  scrap  of  a  missive  from  him.  He  hated  to 
look  at  the  letters.  What  could  he  do  with  them  except 
rip  them  up.''  And  the  miserable  trinklets  —  which  she 
had  worn,  which  had  been  part  of  her.^  As  for  him,  he 
had  not  kept  all  her  letters  —  not  by  any  means. 
There  might  be  a  few,  lying  about  in  drawers.  He 
would  have  to  collect  and  return  them.  Odious  job! 
And  he  could  not  ask  anybody  else  to  do  it  for  him. 

He  was  obliged  to  question  Lucas  about  the  Regent 
Street  Prosser's,  of  which,  regrettably,  he  had  never 
heard.  He  did  not,  in  so  many  words,  request  John  Or- 
greave  for  the  favour  of  an  hour  off.  He  was  now  out 
of  his  articles,  though  still  by  the  force  of  inertia  at  the 
office,  and  therefore  he  informed  John  Orgreave  that 
unless  Mr.  John  had  any  objection  he  proposed  to  take 


236  THE  ROLL-CALL 

an  hour  off.  Mr.  Enwright  was  not  in.  Lucas  knew 
vaguely  of  the  rendezvous,  having  somewhere  met  Lau- 
rencine. 

From  the  outside  Prosser's  was  not  distinguishable 
from  any  other  part  of  Regent  Street.  But  George 
could  not  mistake  it  because  Miss  Wheeler's  car  was 
drawn  up  in  front  of  the  establishment,  and  Lois  was 
waiting  for  him  therein.  Strange  procedure!  She 
smiled  and  then  frowned,  and  got  out  sternly.  She  said 
scarcely  anything,  and  he  found  that  he  could  make  only 
such  silly  remarks  as :     "  Hope  I'm  not  late,  am  1?  " 

The  new  Prosser's  was  a  grandiose  by-product  of 
chocolate.  The  firm  had  taken  the  leading  ideas  of  the 
chief  tea-shop  companies  catering  for  the  million  in  hun- 
dreds of  establishments  arranged  according  to  pattern, 
and  elaborated  them  with  what  it  called  in  its  advertise- 
ments "  cachet."  Its  prices  were  not  as  cheap  as  those 
of  the  popular  houses,  but  they  could  not  be  called  dear. 
George  and  Lois  pushed  through  a  crowded  lane  of 
chocolate  and  confectionery,  past  a  staircase  which 
bore  a  large  notice :  "  Please  keep  to  the  right."  This 
notice  was  needed.  They  came  at  length  to  the  main 
hall,  under  a  dome,  with  a  gallery  between  the  dome  and 
the  ground.  The  floor  was  carpeted.  The  multitudi- 
nous small  tables  had  cloths,  flowers,  silver,  and  menus 
knotted  with  red  satin  ribbon.  The  place  was  full  of 
people,  people  seated  at  the  tables  and  people  walking 
about.  Above  the  rail  of  the  gallery  could  be  seen 
the  hats  and  heads  of  more  people.  People  were  enter- 
ing all  the  time  and  leaving  all  the  time.  Scores  of 
waitresses,  in  pale  green  and  white,  moved  to  and  fro 
like  an  alien  and  mercenary  population.  The  heat,  the 
stir,  the  hum,  and  the  clatter  were  terrific.  And  from 
on  high  descended  thin,  strident  music  in  a  rapid  and 
monotonous  rhythm. 


INSPIRATION  237 

"  No  room !  "  said  George,  feeling  that  he  had  at  last 
got  into  the  true  arena  of  the  struggle  for  life, 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Lois,  with  superior  confidence. 

She  bore  mercilessly  across  the  floor.  Round  the 
edge  of  the  huge  room,  beneath  the  gallery,  were  a  num- 
ber of  little  alcoves  framed  in  fretted  Moorish  arches  of 
white-enamelled  wood.  Three  persons  were  just  emerg- 
ing from  one  of  these.  She  sprang  within,  and  sank 
into  a  wicker  arm-chair. 

"  There  is  always  a  table,"  she  breathed,  surveying 
the  whole  scene  with  a  smile  of  conquest. 

George  sat  down  opposite  to  her  with  his  back  to  the 
hall;  he  could  survey  nothing  but  Lois,  and  the  world 
of  the  mirror  behind  her. 

"  That's  one  of  father's  maxims,"  she  said. 

"What  is?" 

"  '  There  is  always  a  table.'  Well,  you  know,  there 
always  is." 

"  He  must  be  a  very  wise  man." 

"  He  is." 

"  What's  his  special  line.?  " 

She  exclaimed : 

"Don't  you  know  father?  Hasn't  Miss  Wheeler 
told  you?     Or  Mrs.  Orgreave?  " 

"  No." 

"  But  you  must  know  father.  Father's  '  Parisian  '  in 
the  Sunday  Journal." 

Despite  the  mention  of  this  ancient  and  very  dignified 
newspaper,  George  felt  a  sense  of  disappointment.  He 
had  little  esteem  for  journalists,  whom  Mr.  Enwright 
was  continually  scoffing  at,  and  whom  he  imagined  to  be 
all  poor.  He  had  conceived  Mr.  Ingram  as  perhaps  a 
rich  cosmopolitan  financier,  or  a  rich  idler, —  but  at  any 
rate  rich,  whatever  he  might  be. 

"  Of  course  he  does  lots  of  other  work  besides  that. 


238  THE  ROLL-CALL 

He  writes  for  the  PaXl  Mall  Gazette  and  the  St.  Jameses 
Gazette.  In  fact  it's  his  proud  boast  that  he  writes  for 
all  the  gazettes  and  he's  the  only  man  who  does.  That's 
because  he's  so  liked.  Everybody  adores  hira.  I  adore 
him  myself.  He's  a  great  pal  of  mine.  But  he's  very 
strict." 

"Strict?" 

"  Yes,"  she  insisted,  rather  defensively.  "  Why  not  ? 
I  should  like  a  strawberry  ice  and  a  lemon  squash,  and 
a  millefeuille  cake.  Don't  be  alarmed,  please.  I'm  a 
cave-woman.     You've  got  to  get  used  to  it." 

"  What's  a  cave-woman  ?  " 

"  It's  something  primitive.  You  must  come  over  to 
Paris.  If  father  likes  you,  he'll  take  you  to  one  of  the 
weekly  lunches  of  the  Anglo-American  Press  Circle. 
He  always  does  that  when  he  likes  any  one.  He's  the 
Treasurer.  .  .  ^  Haven't  you  got  any  millefeuille 
cakes  ?  "  she  demanded  of  the  waitress,  who  had  come 
to  renew  the  table  and  had  deposited  a  basket  of  various 
cakes. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  haven't,  miss,"  answered  the  waitress, 
not  comprehending  the  strange  word  any  better  than 
George  did. 

"Bit  rowdy,  isn't  it?"  George  observed,  looking 
round,  when  the  waitress  had  gone. 

Lois  said  with  earnestness  : 

"  I  simply  love  these  big,  noisy  places.  They  make 
me  feel  alive." 

He  looked  at  her.  She  was  very  well  dressed, —  more 
stylistic  than  any  other  girl  that  he  could  see  in  the 
mirror.  He  could  not  be  sure  whether  or  not  her  yel- 
low eyes  had  a  slight  cast;  if  they  had  it  was  so  slight 
as  to  be  almost  imperceptible.  There  was  no  trace  of 
diffidence  in  them;  they  commanded.  She  was  not  a 
girl  whom  you  could  masculinely  protect.     On  the  con- 


INSPIRATION  239 

trary  she  would  protect  not  only  herself  but  others. 

"Haven't  you  cream?"  she  curtly  challenged  the 
waitress,  arriving  with  ice,  lemon  squash  and  George's 
tea. 

The  alien  mercenary  met  her  glance  inimically  for  a 
second,  and  then,  shutting  her  lips  together,  walked  off 
with  the  milk.  At  Prosser's  the  waitresses  did  not  wear 
caps,  and  were,  in  theory,  ladies.  Lois  would  have  none 
of  the  theory ;  the  waitress  was  ready  to  die  for  it  and 
carried  it  away  with  her  intact.  George  preferred 
milk  to  cream,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  Yes,"  Lois  went  on.  "  You  ought  to  come  to  Paris. 
You  have  been,  haven't  you?  I  remember  you  told  me. 
We're  supposed  to  go  back  next  week,  but  if  Irene 
doesn't  go,  I  shan't."     She  frowned. 

George  said  that  positively  he  would  come  to  Paris. 

When  they  had  fairly  begun  the  rich,  barbaric  meal, 
Lois  asked  abruptly : 

"  Why  did  you  write  in  the  middle  of  the  night?  " 

Sometimes  her  voice  was  veiled. 

"  Why  did  I  write  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ?  Be- 
cause I  thought  I  would."  He  spoke  masterfully.  He 
didn't  mean  to  stand  any  of  her  cheek. 

"  Oh !  "  she  laughed  nicely.  *'  /  didn't  mind.  I  liked 
it  —  awfully.  It  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  I  should 
have  done  myself.  But  you  might  tell  me  all  about  it. 
I  think  I  deserve  that  much,  don't  you?  " 

Thus  he  told  her  all  about  it, —  how  he  had  arranged 
everything,  got  a  room,  meant  to  have  his  name  painted 
on  the  door,  meant  to  make  his  parents  take  their  holi- 
day on  the  northeast  coast  for  a  change,  so  that  he 
could  study  the  site,  meant  to  work  like  a  hundred  devils. 
Etc.  He  saw  with  satisfaction  that  the  arrogant, 
wilful  creature  was  impressed. 

She  said : 


240  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Now  listen  to  me.     You'll  win  that  competition." 

"  I  shan't,"  he  said.  "  But  it's  worth  trying,  for  the 
experience, —  that's  what  Enwright  says." 

She  said: 

"  I  don't  care  a  fig  what  Enwright  says.  You'll  win 
that  competition.  I'm  always  right  when  I  sort  of  feel 
—  you  know." 

For  the  moment  he  believed  in  the  miraculous,  inex- 
plicable intuitions  of  women. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  as  the  invisible  orchestra  started  a 
new  tune.  "Do  you  know  that.''  It's  the  first  time 
I've  heard  it  in  London.  It's  the  machiche.  It's  all 
over  Paris.  I  think  it's  the  most  wonderful  tune  in  the 
world."     Her  body  swayed ;  her  foot  tapped. 

George  listened.     Yes,  it  was  a  maddening  tune. 

"  It  is,"  he  agreed  eagerly. 

She  cried : 

"  Oh !  I  do  love  pleasure !  And  success !  And 
money !     Don't  you  ?  " 

Her  eyes  had  softened;  they  were  liquid  with  yearn- 
ing; but  there  was  something  frankly  sensual  in  them. 
This  quality,  swiftly  revealed,  attracted  George  in- 
tensely for  an  instant. 

Immediately  afterwards  she  asked  the  time,  and  said 
she  must  go. 

"  I  daren't  keep  Irene  waiting,"  she  said.  Her  eyes 
now  had  a  hard  glitter. 

In  full  Regent  Street  he  put  the  haughty  girl  into 
Irene's  automobile,  which  had  turned  round ;  he  was 
proud  to  be  seen  in  the  act;  he  privately  enjoyed  the 
glances  of  common,  unsuccessful  persons.  As  he  walked 
away  he  smiled  to  himself,  to  hide  from  himself  his  own 
nervous  excitement.  She  was  a  handful,  she  was. 
Within  her  life  burned  and  blazed.  He  remembered  Mr. 
Prince's  remark :     "  You  must  have  made  a  consider- 


INSPIRATION  241 

able  impression  on  her,"  or  words  to  that  effect.  The 
startling  thought  visited  him :  "  I  shall  marry  that 
woman."  Then  another  thought:  "  Not  if  I  know  it! 
I  don't  like  her.  I  do  not  like  her.  I  don't  like  her 
eyes." 

She  had,  however,  tremendously  intensified  in  him  the 
desire  for  success.  He  hurried  off  to  work.  The  days 
passed  too  slowly,  and  yet  they  were  too  short  for  his 
task.  He  could  not  wait  for  the  fulness  of  time.  His 
life  had  become  a  breathless  race.  "  I  shall  win.  I 
can't  possibly  win.  The  thing's  idiotic.  I  might.  .  .  . 
Enwright's  rather  struck."  Yes,  it  was  Mr.  Enwright's 
attitude  that  inspired  him.  To  have  impressed  Mr. 
Enwright  —  by  Jove,  it  was  something ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

COMPETITION 


On  the  face  of  the  door  on  the  third  floor  of  the 
house  in  Russell  Square  the  words  "  G.  E.  Cannon  " 
appeared  in  dirt}^  white  paint,  and  the  freshly  added 
initials  "  A.R.I.B.A."  in   clean  white  paint.     The  ad- 
dition   of    the    triumphant     initials     (indicating    that 
George  had  kissed  the  rod  of  the  Royal  Institute  of 
British  Architects  in  order  to   conquer)   had  put  the 
sign   as  a  whole   out   of  centre,  throwing  it   consider- 
ably to  the  right  on  the  green  door-face.     Within  the 
small  and  bare  room,  on  an  evening  of  earhest  spring 
in  1904,  sat  George  at  the  customary  large  flat  desk 
of  the  architect.      He  had  just  switched  on  the  elec- 
tric   light    over    his    head.     He    looked    sterner    and 
older ;  he  looked  very  worried,  fretful,  exhausted.     He 
was  thin   and   pale;  his   eyes  burned,   and   there  were 
dark  patches  under  the  eyes ;  the  discipline  of  the  hair 
had  been  rather  gravely  neglected.      In  front  of  George 
lay  a  number  of  large  plans,  mounted  on  thick  card- 
board whose  upper  surface  had  a  slight  convex  curve. 
There   were   plans    of   the   basement   of   the   projected 
town-hall,   of  the   ground-floor,    of   the   building  at    a 
hej<?ht   of  twelve   feet    from    the   ground,   of   the   mez- 
zanine-floor, of  the  first,  second,  third,  fourth,  and  fifth 
floors :  these  plans  were  coloured.     Further,   in  plain 
black  and  white,  there  were  a  plan  of  the  roof  (with 

jtower),  a  -longitudinal  section  on  the  central  axis,  two 

242 


COMPETITION  243 

other  sections,  three  elevations,  and  a  perspective  view 
of  the  entire  edifice.      Seventeen  sheets  in  all. 

The  sum  of  work  seemed  tremendous ;  it  made  the 
mind  dizzy ;  it  made  George  smile  with  terrible  satis- 
faction at  his  own  industry.  For  he  had  engaged 
very  little  help.  He  would  have  been  compelled  to 
engage  more,  had  not  the  Corporation  extended  by  one 
month  the  time  for  sending  in.  The  Corporation  had 
behaved  with  singular  enlightenment.  Its  schedules  of 
required  accommodation  (George's  copy  was  scored 
over  everywhere  in  pencil  and  ink  and  seriously  torn) 
were  held  to  be  admirably  drawn,  and  its  supplementary 
circular  of  answers  to  questions  from  competitors  had 
displayed  a  clarity  and  a  breadth  of  mind  unusual  in 
corporations.  Still  more  to  the  point,  the  Corporation 
had  appointed  a  second  assessor  to  act  with  Sir  Hugh 
Corvcr.  In  short,  it  had  shown  that  it  was  under  no 
mandarin's  thumb  and  that  what  it  really  and  seriously 
wanted  was  the  best  design  that  the  profession  could 
produce.  Mr.  Enwright,  mdeed,  had  nearly  admitted 
regret  at  having  kept  out  of  the  immense  affair.  John 
Orgreave  had  expressed  regret  with  vigour  and  can- 
dour. They  had  in  the  main  left  George  alone,  though 
occasionally  at  night  Mr.  Enwright  in  the  little  room 
had  suggested  valuable  solutions  of  certain  problems. 
In  detail  he  was  severely  critical  of  George's  design, 
and  he  would  pour  delicate  satires  upon  the  idiosyn- 
crasy which  caused  the  wilful  boy  to  "  impurify  "  (a 
word  from  Enwright's  private  vocabulary)  a  Renais- 
sance creation  with  Saracenic  tendencies  in  the  treat- 
ment of  arches  and  wall-spaces. 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Enwright  greatly  respected  the  de- 
sign in  its  entirety,  and  both  he  and  John  Orgreave 
(who  had  collected  by  the  subterranean  channels  of  the 
profession  a  large  amount  of  fact  and  rumour  about 


244  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  efforts  of  various  competitors)  opined  that  it  stood 
a  fair  chance  of  being  among  the  selected  six  or  ten 
whose  authors  would  be  invited  to  submit  final  designs 
for  the  final  award.  George  tried  to  be  hopeful ;  but 
he  could  not  be  hopeful  by  trying.  It  was  impossible 
to  believe  that  he  would  succeed ;  the  notion  was  pre- 
posterous ;  yet  at  moments,  when  he  was  not  cultivating 
optimism,  optimism  would  impregnate  all  his  being  and 
he  would  be  convinced  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  win. 
How  inconceivably  grand !  His  chief  rallying  thought 
was  that  he  had  undertaken  a  gigantic  task  and  had 
accomplished  it.  Well  or  ill,  he  had  accomplished  it. 
He  said  to  himself  aloud : 

"  I've  done  it !     I've  done  it !  " 

And  that  he  actually  had  done  it  was  almost  incredi- 
ble. The  very  sheets  of  drawings  were  almost  incredi- 
ble. But  they  existed  there.  All  was  complete.  The 
declaration  that  the  design  was  G.  E.  Cannon's  per- 
sonal work  drawn  in  his  own  office  by  his  ordinary  staff 
was  there,  in  the  printed  envelope  officially  supplied  by 
the  Corporation.  The  estimate  of  cost  and  the  cubing 
was  there.  The  explanatory  report  on  the  design,  duly 
typewritten,  was  there.      Nothing  lacked. 

"  I've  done  it !     I've  done  it !  " 

And  then,  tired  as  he  was,  the  conscience  of  the  cre- 
ative artist  and  of  the  competitor  began  to  annoy  him 
and  spur  him.  The  perspective  drawing  did  not  quite 
satisfy, —  and  there  was  still  time.  The  point  of  view 
for  the  perspective  drawing  was  too  high  up,  and  the 
result  was  a  certain  marring  of  the  nobility  of  the 
lines,  and  certainly  a  diminishment  of  the  effect  of  the 
tower.  He  had  previously  started  another  perspective 
drawing  with  a  lower  view-point,  but  he  had  mistakenly 
cast  it  aside.  He  ought  to  finish  the  first  one  and  sub- 
stitute it  for  the  second  one.       The  perspective  draw- 


COMPETITION  245 

ing  had  a  moral  importance ;  it  had  a  special  influence 
on  the  assessors  and  committees.  Horrid,  tiresome 
labour !  Three,  four,  five  or  six  hours  of  highly  con- 
centrated tedium.  Was  it  worth  while?  It  was  not. 
Mr.  Enwright  liked  the  finished  drawing.  He,  George, 
could  not  face  a  further  strain.  And  yet  he  was  not 
content.  .  .  .  Pooh !  Who  said  he  could  not  face  a 
further  strain.?  Of  course  he  could  face  it.  If  he  did 
not  face  it,  his  conscience  would  accuse  him  of  cow- 
ardice during  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  he  would  never 
be  able  to  say,  honestly :  "  I  did  my  level  best  w  ith  the 
thing."  He  snapped  his  fingers  lightly,  and  in  one 
second  had  decided  to  finish  the  original  perspective 
drawing,  and  in  his  very  finest  style.  He  would  com- 
plete it  some  time  during  the  night.  In  the  morning 
it  could  be  mounted.  The  drawings  were  to  go  to  the 
north  in  a  case  on  the  morrow  by  passenger  train,  and 
to  be  met  at  their  destination  by  a  commissionaire  com- 
mon to  several  competitors ;  this  commissionaire  would 
deliver  them  to  the  Town  Clerk  in  accordance  with  the 
conditions.  In  a  few  minutes  George  was  at  work, 
excited,  having  forgotten  all  fatigue.  He  was  saying 
to  himself  that  he  would  run  out  towards  eight  o'clock 
for  a  chop  or  a  steak.  As  he  worked  he  perceived  that 
he  had  been  quite  right  to  throw  over  the  second  draw- 
ing ;  he  wondered  that  he  could  have  felt  any  hesitation ; 
the  new  drawing  would  be  immeasurably  superior. 

Mr.  Haim  "  stepped  up,"  discreetly  knocking,  en- 
tering with  dignity.  The  relations  between  these  two 
had  little  b}'  little  resumed  their  old,  purely  formal 
quality.  Both  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  passion- 
ate anger  had  ever  separated  them  and  joined  them  to- 
gether. George  was  young,  and  capable  of  oblivion. 
Mr.  Haim  had  beaten  him  in  the  struggle  and  could 
afford  to  forget.     They  conversed  politely,  as  though 


246  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  old  man  had  no  daughter  and  the  youth  had  never 
had  a  lover,  Mr.  Haim  had  even  assisted  with  the 
lettering  of  the  sheets, —  not  because  George  needed 
his  help,  but  because  Mr.  Haim's  calligraphic  pride 
needed  to  help.  To  refuse  the  stately  offer  would  have 
been  to  insult.     Mr.  Haim  had  aged,  but  not  greatly. 

"  You're  wanted  on  the  telephone,  Mr.  Cannon." 

"  Oh !     Dash  it !  .  .  .  Thanks  !  » 

After  all  George  was  no  longer  on  the  staff  of  Lucas 
and  Enwright,  and  Mr.  Haim  was  conferring  a  favour. 

Down  below  in  the  big  office  everybody  had  gone 
except  the  factotum. 

George  seized  the  telephone  receiver  and  called 
brusquely  for  attention. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Cannon.?" 

"Yes.     Who  is  it.?" 

"Ohl  It's  you,  George!  How  nice  to  hear  your 
voice  again !  " 

He  recognised,  but  not  instantly,  the  voice  of  Lois 
Ingram.  He  was  not  surprised.  Indeed  he  had  sus- 
pected that  the  disturber  of  work  must  be  either  Lois 
or  Miss  Wheeler,  or  possibly  Laurencine.  The  three 
had  been  in  London  again  for  several  days,  and  he  had 
known  from  Lucas  that  a  theatre-party  had  been  ar- 
ranged for  that  night  to  witness  the  irresistible  musical 
comedy,  "  The  Gay  Spark."  Lucas  and  M.  Defour- 
cambault  were  to  be  of  the  party.  George  had  not  yet 
seen  Lois  since  her  latest  return  to  London ;  he  had 
only  seen  her  twice  since  the  previous  summer ;  he  had 
not  visited  Paris  in  the  interval.  The  tone  of  her  voice, 
even  as  transformed  by  the  telephone,  was  caressing. 
He  had  to  think  of  some  suitable  response  to  her  start- 
ling amiability,  and  to  utter  it  with  conviction.  He 
tried  to  hold  fast  in  his  mind  to  the  image  of  the  per- 
spective  with   its    countless    complexities    and    the   co- 


COMPETITION  247 

ordination  of  them  all ;  the  thing  seemed  to  be  retreat- 
ing from  him  and  he  dared  not  let  it  go. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Lois,  "  I  only  came  to  London 
to  celebrate  the  sending-in  of  your  design.  I  hear  it's 
marvellous.     Aren't  you  glad  you've  finished  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  haven't  finished  it,"  said  George.  "  I'm  on 
it  now." 

What  did  the  girl  mean  by  saying  she'd  only  come 
to  London  to  celebrate  the  end  of  his  work.?  An  in- 
vention on  her  part !  Still,  it  flattered  him.  She  was 
very  strange. 

"  But  Everard's  told  us  you'd  finished  a  bit  earlier 
than  you'd  expected.  We  counted  on  seeing  your  lord- 
ship to-morrow.  But  now  we've  got  to  see  you  to- 
night." 

"  Awfully  sorry  I  can't." 

"  But  look  here,  George.  You  must  really.  The 
party's  all  broken  up.  Miss  Wheeler's  had  to  go  back 
to  Paris  to-night,  and  Jules  can't  come.  Everything's 
upset.  The  flat's  going  to  be  closed  and  Laurencine 
and  I  will  have  to  leave  to-morrow.  It's  most  fright- 
fully annoying.  We've  got  the  box  all  right,  and 
Everard's  coming,  and  you  must  make  the  fourth.  We 
must  have  a  fourth.  Laurencine's  here  at  the  'phone 
and  she  says  the  same  as  me." 

"  Wish  I  could ! "  George  answered  shortly. 
"  Look  here !  What  train  are  you  going  by  to-mor- 
row.?    I'll  come  and  see  you  off.     I  shall  be  free  then." 

"  But,  George.  We  zcant  you  to  come  to-night." 
There  seemed  positively  to  be  tears  in  the  faint  voice. 
"Why  can't  you  come.?     You  must  come." 

"  I  haven't  finished  one  of  the  drawings.  I  tell  you 
I'm  on  it  now.  It'll  take  me  half  the  night,  or  more. 
I'm  just  in  the  thick  of  it,  you  see."  He  spoke  with 
a  slight  resentful  impatience, —  less  at  her  over-per- 


248  THE  ROLL-CALL 

suasiveness  than  at  the  fact  that  his  mind  and  the  draw- 
ing were  being  more  and  more  separated.  Soon  he 
would  have  lost  the  right  mood  and  he  would  be  com- 
pelled to  recreate  it  before  he  could  resume  the  work. 
The  forcible  gradual  dragging  away  of  his  mind  from 
its  passionately  gripped  objective  was  torture.  He 
had  an  impulse  to  throw  down  the  receiver  and  run  off. 

The  distant  squeaking  voice  changed  to  the  petulant : 

"  You  are  horrid.  You  could  come  right  enough  if 
you  wanted  to." 

"But  don't  you  understand?  It's  awfully  impor- 
tant for  me." 

He  was  astounded,  absolutely  astounded.  She 
would  not  understand.  She  had  decided  that  he  must 
go  to  the  musical  comedy,  and  nothing  else  mattered. 
His  whole  future  did  not  matter. 

"  Oh !  Very  well,  then,"  Lois  said,  undisguisedly 
vexed.  "  Of  course  if  you  won't,  you  won't.  But 
really  when  two  girls  implore  you  like  that.  .  .  .  And 
we  have  to  leave  to-morrow,  and  everything's  upset ! 
...  I  do  think  it's  .   .   .   However,  good  night." 

"  Here !  Hold  hard  a  sec.  I'll  come  for  an  hour  or 
so.     What's  the  number  of  the  box.''  " 

"  Fourteen,"  said  the  voice  brokenly. 

Immediately  afterwards  she  rang  off.  George  was 
hurt  and  bewildered.  The  girl  was  incredibly  ruthless. 
She  was  mad.  Why  had  he  yielded?  Only  a  silly  con- 
ventional feeling  had  made  him  yield.  And  yet  he  was 
a  great  scornor  of  convention.  He  went  upstairs 
again  to  the  perspective  drawing.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  He  might  work  for  half  an  hour  before  leaving 
to  dress.  No,  ho  could  not.  The  mood  had  vanished. 
The  perspective  had  slipped  into  another  universe.  He 
could  not  even  pick  up  a  pen.  He  despised  himself  ter- 
ribly, despairingly,  for  yielding. 


COMPETITION  249 


II 


In  spite  of  all  this  he  anticipated  with  pleasure  the 
theatre-party.  He  wanted  to  go ;  he  was  glad  he  was 
going;  the  memory  of  Lois  in  the  tea-palace  excited 
him.  And  he  could  refuse  a  hearing  to  his  conscience, 
and  could  prevent  himself  from  thinking  uncomfortably 
of  the  future,  as  well  as  most  young  men.  His  secret, 
unadmitted,  voluptuous  eagerness  was  alloyed  only  by 
an  apprehension  that  after  the  scene  over  the  telephone 
Lois  might  be  peevish  and  ungracious.  The  fear 
proved  to  be  baseless. 

Owing  to  the  imperfections  of  the  club  laundry  and 
the  erring  humanity  of  Downs,  he  arrived  late.  "  The 
Gay  Spark  "  had  begun.  He  found  a  darkened  audi- 
torium and  a  glowing  stage.  In  the  dim  box,  Lois 
and  Laurencine  were  sitting  in  front  on  gilt  chairs. 
Lucas  sat  behind  Laurencine,  and  there  was  an  empty 
chair  behind  Lois.  Her  gesture,  her  smile,  her  glance, 
as  she  turned  to  George  and  looked  up,  were  touching. 
She  was  delighted  to  see  him ;  she  had  the  mien  of  a 
child  who  has  got  what  it  wanted  and  has  absolutely 
forgotten  that  it  ever  pouted,  shrieked  and  stamped 
its  foot.  She  was  determined  to  charm  her  uttermost. 
Her  eye  in  the  gloom  was  soft  with  mysterious  invita- 
tions. George  looked  about  the  interior  of  the  box; 
he  saw  the  rich  cloaks  of  the  girls  hanging  up  next  to 
glossy  masculine  hats,  the  large  mirror  on  the  wall,  and 
mother-of-pearl  opera-glasses,  the  chocolates  and  flow- 
ers on  the  crimson  ledge.  He  was  very  close  to  the 
powerfully' -built  and  yet  plastic  Lois.  He  could  watch 
her  changing  curves  as  she  breathed ;  the  faint  scent  she 
used  rose  to  his  nostrils.  He  thought,  with  contained 
rapture :  "  Nothing  in  the  world  is  equal  to  this."  He 
did  not  care  a  fig  for  the  effect  of  perspective  draw- 


250  THE  ROLL-CALL 

ings  or  the  result  of  the  competition.  Lois,  her  head 
half-turned  towards  him,  her  gaze  lost  in  the  sombre 
distances  of  the  auditorium,  talked  in  a  low  tone,  ig- 
noring the  performance.  He  gathered  that  the  sudden 
departure  of  Irene  Wheeler  had  unusually  impressed 
and  disconcerted  and  to  a  certain  extent  mortified  the 
sisters,  who  could  not  explain  it  and  who  resented  the 
compulsion  to  go  back  to  Paris  at  once.  And  he  de- 
tected in  Lois,  not  for  the  first  time,  a  grievance  that 
Irene  kept  her,  Lois,  apart  from  the  main  current  of 
her  apparently  grandiose  social  career.  Obviously  an 
evening  at  which  the  sole  guests  were  two  girls  and  a 
youth  all  quite  unknown  to  newspapers  could  not  be 
a  major  item  in  the  life  of  a  woman  such  as  Irene 
Wheeler.  She  had  left  them  unceremoniously  to  them- 
selves at  the  last  moment,  as  it  were  permitting  them 
to  do  what  they  liked  within  the  limits  of  goodness  for 
one  night,  and  commanding  them  to  return  sagely  home 
on  the  morrow. 

A  rod-nosed  actor,  hands  in  pockets,  waddled  self- 
consciously on  to  the  stage,  and  the  packed  audience, 
emitting  murmurs  of  satisfaction,  applauded.  Con- 
versations were  interrupted.  George,  expectant,  gave 
his  attention  to  the  show.  He  knew  little  or  nothing 
of  musical  comedy,  having  come  under  influences  which 
had  taught  him  to  despise  it.  His  stepfather,  for 
example,  could  be  very  sarcastic  about  musical  comedy, 
and  through  both  Enwright  and  John  Orgreave  George 
had  further  cultivated  the  habit  of  classical  music, 
already  acquired  in  boyhood  at  home  in  the  Five  Towns. 
In  the  previous  year,  despite  the  calls  upon  his  time 
of  study  for  examinations,  George  had  attended  the 
Covent  Garden  performances  of  the  Wagnerian 
"  Ring  "  as  he  might  have  attended  High  Mass.  He 
knew  by  name  a  considerable  percentage  of  the  hundred 


COMPETITION  251 

odd  themes  in  "  The  Ring,"  and  it  was  his  boast  that 
he  could  identify  practically  all  the  forty-seven  themes 
in  "  The  Meistersinger."  He  raved  about  Ternina  in 
*'  Tristan,"  He  had  worshipped  the  Joachim  quartet. 
He  was  acquainted  with  all  the  popular  symphonies  of 
Beethoven,  Schubert,  Schumann,  Mozart,  Glazounov, 
and  Tschaikovsky.  He  even  frequented  the  Philhar- 
monic Concerts,  which  were  then  conducted  by  a  com- 
poser of  sentimental  drawing-room  ballads,  and  though 
he  would  not  class  this  conductor  with  Richter  or 
Henry  J,  Wood,  he  yet  believed  that  somehow,  by  the 
magic  of  the  sacred  name  of  the  Philharmonic  Society, 
the  ballad-monger  in  the  man  expired  in  the  act  of  rais- 
ing the  baton  and  was  replaced  by  a  serious  and  sensi- 
tive artist.  He  was  accustomed  to  hear  the  same  pieces 
of  music  again  and  again  and  again,  and  they  were 
all  or  nearly  all  very  fine,  indisputably  great.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  that  once  they  had  been  unfamiliar 
and  had  had  to  fight  for  the  notice  of  persons  who  in- 
dulged in  music  exactly  as  he  indulged  in  music.  He 
had  no  traffic  with  the  unfamiliar.  Unfamiliar  items 
on  a  programme  displeased  him.  He  had  heard  com- 
positions by  Richard  Strauss,  but  he  could  make  noth- 
ing of  them,  and  his  timid,  untravelled  taste  feared  to 
like  them.  Mr.  Enwright  himself  was  mainly  inimical 
to  Strauss,  as  to  most  of  modern  Germany,  perhaps 
because  of  the  new  architecture  in  Berlin.  George 
knew  that  there  existed  young  English  composers  with 
such  names  as  Cyril  Scott,  Balfour  Gardiner,  Donald 
Tovey  —  for  he  had  seen  these  names  recently  on  the 
front  page  of  The  Daily  Telegraph  —  but  he  had  never 
gone  to  the  extent  of  listening  to  their  works.  He  was 
entirely  sure  that  they  could  not  hold  a  candle  to 
Wagner,  and  his  sub-conscious  idea  was  that  it  was 
rather   like  their  cheek   to   compose   at  all.     He  had 


252  THE  ROLL-CALL 

not  noticed  that  Hugo  Wolf  had  just  died,  nor  indeed 
had  he  noticed  that  Hugo  Wolf  had  ever  lived. 

Nevertheless  this  lofty  and  exclusive  adherent  of  the 
"  best  "  music  was  not  prejudiced  in  advance  against 
"The  Gay  Spark."  He  was  anxious  to  enjoy  it  and 
he  expected  to  enjoy  it.  "The  Gay  Spark"  had  al- 
read^^  an  enormous  prestige;  it  bore  the  agreeable, 
captivating  label  of  Vienna ;  and  immense  sums  were 
being  made  out  of  it  in  all  the  capitals  of  the  world. 
George  did  not  hope  for  immortal  strains,  but  he  an- 
ticipated a  distinguished  lilting  gaiety,  and  in  the 
"  book  "  a  witty  and  cosmopolitan  flavour  that  would 
lift  the  thing  high  above  such  English  musical  comedies 
as  he  had  seen.  It  was  impossible  that  a  work  of  so 
universal  and  prodigious  a  vogue  should  not  have  un- 
questionable virtues. 

The  sight  of  the  red-nosed  comedian  rather  shocked 
George,  who  had  supposed  that  red-nosed  comedians  be- 
longed to  the  past.  However,  the  man  was  atoned  for 
by  three  extremely  beautiful  and  graceful  young  girls 
who  followed  him.  Round  about  the  small  group  was 
ranged  a  semicircle  of  handsome  creatures  in  long  skirts, 
behind  whom  was  another  semicircle  of  young  men  in 
white  flannels  ;  the  scene  was  a  street  in  Mandalay.  The 
red-nosed  comedian  began  by  making  a  joke  concerning 
his  mother-in-law,  and  another  concerning  mendacious 
statements  to  his  wife  to  explain  his  nocturnal  absences 
from  home,  and  another  concerning  his  intoxicated  con- 
dition. The  three  extremely  beautiful  and  graceful 
young  girls  laughed  deliciously  at  the  red-nosed  come- 
dian ;  they  replied  in  a  similar  vein  ;  they  clasped  his  neck 
and  kissed  him  rapturously,  and  thereupon  he  sang  a 
song  of  which  the  message  was  that  all  three  extremely 
beautiful  and  graceful  girls  practised  professionally 
the  most  ancient  and  stable  of  feminine  vocations;  the 


COMPETITION  253 

girls  by  means  of  many  refrains  confirmed  this  defini- 
tion of  their  status  in  society.  Then  the  four  of  them 
danced  and  there  was  enthusiastic  applause  from  every 
part  of  the  house  except  the  semicircle  of  European 
odalisques  lost  for  some  unexplained  reason  in  Manda- 
lay.  These  ladies,  the  indubitable  physical  attractions 
of  each  of  whom  were  known  by  the  managerhent  to  fill 
five  or  six  stalls  every  night,  took  no  pains  whatever 
to  hide  that  they  were  acutely  bored  by  the  whole  pro- 
ceedings. Self-sufl5cient  in  their  beauty,  deeply  aware 
of  the  power  of  their  beauty,  they  deigned  to  move  a 
lackadaisical  arm  or  leg  at  intervals  in  accordance  with 
the  respectful  suggestions  of  the  conductor. 

Soon  afterwards  the  gay  spark  herself  appeared, 
amid  a  hysteria  of  applause.  She  played  the  part  of 
the  wife  of  a  military  officer,  and  displayed  therein  a 
marvellous,  a  terrifying  vitality  of  tongue,  leg,  and 
arm.  The  young  men  in  white  flannels  surrounded 
her,  and  she  could  flirt  with  all  of  them ;  she  was  on 
intimate  terms  with  the  red-nosed  comedian  and  also 
with  the  trio  of  dolisrhtful  wantons,  and  her  ideals  in 
life  seemed  to  be  identical  with  theirs.  When,  through 
the  arrival  of  certain  dandies  twirling  canes,  and  the 
mysterious  transformation  of  the  Burmese  street  into 
a  Parisian  cafe,  these  ideals  were  on  the  point  of 
realisation,  there  was  a  great  burst  of  brass  in  the 
orchestra,  succeeded  by  a  violent  chorus,  some  kicking, 
and  a  general  wassail,  and  the  curtain  fell  on  the  first 
act.  It  had  to  be  raised  four  times  before  the  grate- 
fully appreciative  clapping  would  cease. 

The  auditorium  shone  with  light ;  it  grew  murmurous 
with  ecstatic  approval.  The  virginal  face  of  Lauren- 
cine  shot  its  rapture  to  Lucas  as  she  turned  to  shake 
hands  with  George. 

"  Jolly  well  done,  isn't  it.**  "  said  Lucas. 


254  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Yes,"  said  George. 

Lucas,  too  content  to  notice  the  perfunctoriness  of 
George's  affirmative,  went  on: 

"  When  you  think  that  they're  performing  it  this 
very  night  in  St.  Petersburg,  Berlin,  Paris,  Brussels, 
and  I  fancy  Rome  but  I'm  not  sure  —  marvellous, 
isn't  it?" 

"  It  is,"  said  George  ambiguously. 

Though  continuing  to  like  him,  he  now  definitely 
despised  Everard.  The  fellow  had  no  artistic  per- 
ceptions ;  he  was  a  child.  By  some  means  he  had  got 
through  his  Final,  and  was  soon  to  be  a  junior  partner 
in  Lucas  and  Enwright.  George,  however,  did  not 
envy  Everard  the  soft  situation;  he  only  pitied  Lucas 
and  Enwright.  Everard  had  often  urged  George 
to  go  to  musical  comedies  more  frequently,  hinting 
that  they  were  frightfully  better  than  George  could 
conceive.  "  The  Gay  Spark  "  gave  Lucas  away  en- 
tirely ;  it  gave  away  his  method  of  existence. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  like  it,"  said  sharp  Laurencine. 

"  I  adore  it,"  George  protested.     "  Don't  you.?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  do,  of  course,"  said  Laurencine.  "  I  knew 
I  should." 

Lucas,  instinctively  on  the  defence,  said: 

"  The  second  act's  much  better  than  the  first." 

George's  hopes,  dashed  but  not  broken,  recovered 
somewhat.  After  all  there  had  been  one  or  two  gleams 
of  real  jokes,  and  a  catchiness  in  certain  airs;  and  the 
spark  possessed  temperament  in  profusion.  It  was 
possible  that  the  next  act  might  be  diverting. 

"  You  do  look  tired,"  said  Laurencine. 

"Oh,  no,  darling!"  Lois  objected.  "I  think  he 
looks  splendid." 

She  was  intensely  happy  in  the  theatre.  The  box 
was  very  well  placed  —  since  Irene  had   bought   it  — 


COMPETITION  255 

with  a  view  equally  good  of  the  stage  and  of  the  semi- 
circle of  boxes.  Lois'  glance  wandered  blissfully  round 
the  boxes,  all  occupied  by  gay  parties,  and  over  the 
vivacious  stalls.  She  gazed,  and  she  enjoyed  being 
gazed  at.  She  batlied  herself  in  the  glitter  and  the 
gaudiness  and  the  opulence  and  the  humanity,  as  in  a 
tonic  fluid.  She  seemed  to  float  sinuously  and  voluptu- 
ously immersed  in  it,  as  in  tepid  water  lit  with  sunshine. 

"  Do  have  a  choc,"  she  invited  eagerly. 

George  took  a  chocolate.  She  took  one.  They  all 
took  one.  They  all  had  the  unconscious  pride  of  youth 
that  does  not  know  itself  young.  Each  was  different 
from  the  others.  George  showed  the  reserve  of  the 
artist ;  Lucas  the  ease  of  the  connoisseur  of  mundane 
spectacles ;  Laurencine  the  sturdy  catholic  girlish  in- 
nocence that  nothing  can  corrupt.  And  the  sovereign 
was  Lois.  She  straightened  her  shoulders  ;  she  leaned 
languorously ;  she  looked  up,  she  looked  down ;  she 
spoke  softly  and  loudly ;  she  laughed  and  smiled.  And 
in  every  movement  and  in  every  gesture  and  tone  she 
symbolised  the  ecstasy  of  life.  She  sought  pleasure, 
and  she  had  found  it,  and  she  had  no  after-thought. 
She  was  infectious ;  she  was  irresistible,  and  terrible, 
too.  For  it  was  dismaying,  at  any  rate  to  George, 
to  dwell  on  the  fierceness  of  her  instinct  and  on  the 
fierceness  of  its  satisfaction.  To  George  her  burning 
eyes  were  wistful,  pathetic  in  their  simplicity.  He  felt 
a  sort  of  fearful  pity  for  her.  And  he  admired  her, — 
she  was  something  definite;  she  was  something  magnifi- 
cently outright ;  she  did  live.  Also  he  liked  her ;  the 
implications  in  her  glance  appealed  to  him.  The  pe- 
culiar accents  in  which  she  referred  to  the  enigma  of 
Irene  Wheeler  were  extraordinarily  attractive  to  that 
part  of  his  nature  which  was  perverse  and  sophisticated. 
"  At  least  she  is  not  a  simpleton,"  he  thought.     "  And 


256  THE  ROLL-CALL 

she  doesn't  pretend  to  be.  Some  day  I  shall  talk  to 
her." 

The  orchestra  resumed ;  the  lights  went  out.  Lois 
settled  herself  to  fresh  enchantment  as  the  curtain 
rolled  up  to  disclose  the  bright  halls  and  staircases  of 
a  supper-club.  The  second  act  was  an  amplification 
and  inflammation  of  the  themes  of  the  first.  As  for  the 
music,  George  listened  in  vain  for  an  original  tune,  even 
for  a  tune  of  which  he  could  not  foretell  the  end  from 
the  beginning ;  the  one  or  two  engaging  bits  of  melody 
which  enlivened  the  first  act  were  employed  again  in  the 
second.  The  disdainful  lethargic  chorus  was  the  same ; 
the  same  trio  of  delicious  wantons  fondled  and  kissed 
the  same  red-nosed  comedian,  who  was  still  in  the  same 
state  of  inebriety,  and  the  gay  spark  flitted  royster- 
ingly  through  the  same  evolutions,  in  pursuit  of  the 
same  simple  ideals.  The  jocularity  pivoted  unend- 
ingly on  the  same  twin  centres  of  alcohol  and  con- 
cupiscence. Gradually  the  latter  grew  to  more  and 
more  importance,  and  the  piece  became  a  high  and  can- 
did homage  to  the  impulse  by  force  of  which  alone  one 
generation  succeeds  another.  No  beautiful  and  grace- 
ful young  girl  on  the  stage  blenched  before  the  salacious 
witticisms  of  the  tireless  comedian ;  on  the  contrary  he 
remained  the  darling  of  the  stage.  And  as  he  was 
the  darling  of  the  stage,  so  was  he  the  darling  of  the 
audience. 

And  if  no  beautiful  and  graceful  young  girl  blenched 
on  the  stage,  neither  did  the  beautiful  and  graceful 
yoimg  girls  in  the  audience  blench.  You  could  see 
them  sitting  happily  with  their  fathers  and  mothers 
and  cousins  and  uncles  and  aunts  savouring  the  spec- 
tacle from  dim  stalls  and  boxes  in  the  most  perfect 
respectability.     Laurencine,  leaning  her  elbows  on  the 


COMPETITION  J^57 

edge  of  the  box,  watched  with  eager  parted  lips,  and 
never  showed  the  slightest  sign  of  uneasiness. 

George  was  uneasy ;  he  was  distressed.  The  extraor- 
dinary juxtaposition  of  respectability  and  a  ribald 
sexual  display  startled  but  did  not  distress  him.  If 
the  whole  audience  was  ready  to  stand  it  he  certainly 
was.  He  had  no  desire  to  protect  people  from  them- 
selves, nor  to  blush  on  behalf  of  others  — whoever  they 
might  be.  Had  anybody  accused  him  of  saintliness  he 
would  have  resented  the  charge,  quite  justifiably,  and  if 
the  wit  of  "  The  Gay  Spark  "  had  been  witty,  he  would 
have  enjoyed  it  without  a  qualm.  What  distressed 
him,  what  utterly  desolated  him,  was  the  grossness, 
the  poorness,  the  cheapness,  the  dulness,  and  the  unin- 
ventive  monotony  of  the  interminable  entertainment. 
He  yawned,  ho  could  not  help  yawning;  he  yawned  his 
soul  away.  Lois  must  have  heard  him  yawning,  but 
she  did  not  move.  He  looked  at  her  curiously,  piti- 
fully, speculating  how  much  of  her  luxury  was  due  to 
Irene  Wheeler,  and  how  little  to  "  Parisian  "  of  The 
Sunday  Journal, —  for  he  had  been  enquiring  about  the 
fruits  of  journalism.  The  vision  of  his  own  office  and 
of  the  perspective  drawing  rose  seductively  and  irre- 
sistibly in  his  mind.  He  could  not  stay  in  the  theatre; 
he  felt  that  if  he  stayed  he  would  be  in  danger  of  drop- 
ping down  dead,  suffocated  by  tedium ;  and  the  drawing 
must  be  finished ;  it  would  not  wait ;  it  was  the  most 
urgent  thing  in  the  world.  And  not  a  syllable  had  any 
person  in  the  box  said  to  him  about  his  great  task. 
Lois'  forearm,  braceleted,  lay  on  the  front  of  the  box. 
Unceremoniouslv  he  took  her  hand. 

"  By-bye." 

**  You  aren't  going?  "     Her  whisper  was  incredulous. 

"  Must." 


£58  THE  ROLL-CALL 

He  gave  her  no  chance  to  expostulate.  With  one 
movement  he  had  seized  his  hat  and  coat  and  slid  from 
tlie  box,  just  as  the  finale  of  the  act  was  imminent  and 
the  red-nosed  comedian  was  measuring  the  gay  spark 
for  new  lingerie  with  a  giant  property-cigar.  He  had 
not  said  good-bye  to  Laurencine.  He  had  not  asked 
about  their  departure  on  the  morrow.  But  he  was 
free. 

In  the  foyer  a  couple  —  a  woman  in  a  rose  plush 
sortie  de  bed,  and  a  blade  —  were  mysteriously  talking. 
The  blade  looked  at  him,  smiled,  and  left  the  lady. 

**  Hcl/o,  old  fellow !  "  It  was  Buckingham  Smith, 
who  had  been  getting  on  in  the  world. 

They  shook  hands. 

*'  You've  left  Chelsea,  haven't  you.''  ^ 

*'  Yes,"  said  George. 

"  So've  I.  Don't  see  much  of  the  old  gang  nowadays. 
Heard  anything  of  old  Princey  lately?  " 

George  replied  that  he  had  not.  The  colloquy  was 
over  in  a  moment. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  my  show  —  next  week," 
Buck  Smitli  called  out  after  the  departing  George. 

*'  I  will,"  cried  George. 

He  walked  quickly  up  to  Russell  Square,  impatient  to 
steep  himself  anew  in  his  work.  All  sense  of  fatigue 
had  left  him.  Time  seemed  to  be  flying  past  him,  and 
he  rushing  towards  an  unknown  fate.  On  the  previous 
day  he  had  received  an  enhcartening,  challenging,  sar- 
donic letter  from  his  stepfather,  who  referred  to  poli- 
tics and  envisaged  a  new  epoch  for  the  country.  Ed- 
win Clayhanger  was  a  Radical  of  a  type  found  only  in 
the  Midlands  and  the  North.  For  many  years  Clay- 
hanger's  party,  to  which  he  was  passionately  faithful, 
had  had  no  war-cry  and  no  programme  worthy  of  its 
traditions.     The   increasing   success   of   the   campaign 


COMPETITION  259 

against  Protection  and  certain  signs  that  the  intro- 
duction of  Chinese  labour  into  South  Africa  could  be 
effectively  resisted,  had  excited  the  middle-aged  pro- 
vincial —  now  an  Alderman  —  and  he  had  managed  to 
communicate  fire  to  George.  But  in  George,  though  he 
sturdily'  shared  his  stepfather's  views,  the  resulting 
righteous  energy  was  diverted  to  architectural  cre- 
ation. 

m 

The  circumstances  in  which,  about  a  month  later, 
George  lunched  with  the  Ingram  famil}'^  at  their  flat  in 
the  Rue  d'Athenes,  near  the  Gare  St.  Lazare,  Paris, 
had  an  appearance  of  the  utmost  simplicity  and  ordi- 
nariness. He  had  been  down  to  Staffordshire  for  a 
rest,  and  had  returned  unrested.  And  then  Mr.  En- 
wright  had  suggested  that  it  would  do  him  good  to  go 
to  Paris,  even  to  go  alone.  He  went,  with  no  plan, 
but  having  made  careful  arrangements  for  the  tele- 
graphing to  him  of  the  result  of  the  competition,  which 
was  daily  expected.  By  this  time  he  was  very  seriously 
convinced  that  there  was  no  hope  of  him  being  among 
the  selected  six  or  ten,  and  he  preferred  to  get  the  news 
away  from  London  rather  than  in  it ;  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  face  London  on  the  day  or  the  morrow  of  a 
defeat  which  would  of  course  render  his  youthful  au- 
dacity ridiculous. 

He  arrived  in  Paris  on  a  Wednesday  evening  and 
took  a  room  in  a  maison  meuhlee  of  the  Rue  de  Seze. 
Every  inexperienced  traveller  in  Paris  has  a  friend  who 
knows  a  lodging  in  Paris  which  he  alleges  is  better  and 
cheaper  than  any  other  lodging  —  and  which  is  not. 
The  house  in  the  Rue  de  Seze  was  the  economical  para- 
dise of  Buckingham  Smith,  whom  George  had  encount- 
ered   again    at    the    Buckingham    Smith    exhibition. 


260  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Buckingham  Smith,  with  over  half  his  pictures  bear- 
ing the  red  seal  that  indicates  "  Sold,"  felt  justified  in 
posing  to  the  younger  George  as  a  cosmopolitan  ex- 
pert,—  especially  as  his  opinions  on  modern  French 
art  were  changing.  George  spent  three  solitary  and 
dejected  days  in  Paris  affecting  an  interest  in  museums 
and  architecture  and  French  opera,  and  committing 
follies.  Near  the  end  of  the  third  day,  a  Saturday,  he 
suddenly  sent  a  threepenny  express  note  to  Lois  In- 
gram. He  would  have  telephoned  had  he  dared  to  use 
the  French  telephone.  On  Sunday  morning,  an  aproned 
valet  having  informed  him  that  Monsieur  was  demanded 
at  the  telephone,  he  had  to  use  the  telephone.  Lois 
told  him  that  he  must  come  to  lunch,  and  that  after- 
wards he  would  be  escorted  to  the  races.  Dejection 
was  instantly  transformed  into  a  gay  excitation. 
Proud  of  having  spoken  through  a  French  telephone, 
he  began  to  conceive  romantically  the  interior  of  a 
Paris  home  —  he  had  seen  naught  but  a  studio  or  so 
with  Mr.  Enwright  —  and  to  thrill  at  the  prospect  of 
Sunday  races.  Not  merely  had  he  never  seen  a  horse- 
race on  a  Sunday, —  he  had  never  seen  a  horse-race  at 
all.  He  perhaps  was  conscious  of  a  genuine  interest 
in  Lois  and  her  environment,  but  what  most  satisfied 
and  flattered  him,  after  his  loneliness,  was  the  bare  fact 
of  possessing  social  relations  in  Paris  at  all. 

The  Ingram  home  was  up  four  flights  of  naked  oaken 
stairs,  fairly  swept,  in  a  plain  flat-fronted  house.  The 
door  of  the  home  was  opened  b}'  a  dark,  untidy,  dis- 
hevelled, uncapped,  fat  girl,  with  a  full  apron,  dazzling- 
white  and  rectangularly  creased,  that  had  obviously 
just  been  taken  out  of  a  drawer.  Familiarly  and 
amicably  smiling,  she  led  him  into  a  small,  modest 
drawing-room  where  were  Lois  and  her  father  and 
mother.     Lois  was  enigmatic  and  taciturn.     Mr.  and 


COMPETITION  261 

Mrs.  Ingram  were  ingenuous,  loquacious,  and  at  ease. 
Both  of  them  had  twinkling  eyes.  Mrs.  Ingram  was 
rather  stout  and  grey  and  small,  and  wore  a  quiet,  in- 
expensive blue  dress  embroidered  at  the  neck  in  the 
Morrisian  manner,  of  no  kind  of  fashionableness.  She 
spoke  in  a  low  voice,  smiled,  to  herself,  with  a  benevo- 
lence that  was  not  without  a  touch  of  the  sardonic,  and 
often  looked  at  the  floor  or  at  the  ceiling.  Mr.  Ingram, 
very  slim  and  neat,  was  quite  as  small  as  his  wife  and 
seemed  smaller.  He  talked  much  and  rather  amus- 
ingly, in  a  somewhat  mincing  tone,  as  it  were  apologet- 
ically, truly  anxious  to  please.  He  had  an  extremely 
fair  complexion,  and  his  youthfulness  was  quite  start- 
ling. His  golden  hair  and  perfect  teeth  might  have 
belonged  to  a  boy.  George  leapt  immediately  into 
familiarity  with  these  two.  But  nobody  could  have  less 
resembled  his  preconceived  image  of  "  Parisian  "  than 
Mr.  Ingram.  And  he  could  not  understand  a  bit 
whence  or  how  such  a  pair  had  produced  their  daughter 
Lois.  Laurencine  was  a  far  more  comprehensible  off- 
spring for  them. 

The  dining-room  was  even  less  spacious  than  the 
drawing-room,  and  as  unpretentious.  The  furniture 
everywhere  was  sparse,  but  there  were  one  or  two  rich 
knickknacks,  and  an  abundance  of  signed  photographs. 
The  few  pictures,  too,  were  signed,  and  they  drew  at- 
tention. On  the  table  the  napkins,  save  George's,  were 
in  rings,  and  each  ring  different  from  the  others. 
George's  napkin  had  the  air  of  a  wealthy,  stiff,  shiny 
relative  of  the  rest.  Evidently  in  that  home  the  long 
art  of  making  both  ends  meet  was  dail}'  practised. 
George  grew  light-hearted  and  happy,  despite  the  su- 
preme preoccupation  which  onlj'  a  telegram  could  allay. 
He  had  keenly  the  sensation  of  being  abroad.  The 
multiplicity  of  doors,  the  panelling  of  the  doors,  the 


262  THE  ROLL-CALL 

narrow  planking  of  the  oaken  floor,  the  moulding  of  the 
cornices,  the  shape  of  the  windows,  the  view  of  the 
courtyard  from  the  dining-room  and  of  attics  and 
chimney  cowls  from  the  drawing-room,  the  closed 
anthracite  stoves  in  lieu  of  fires,  the  crockery,  the 
wine-bottle,  the  mustard,  the  grey  salt,  the  unconven- 
tional gestures  and  smiles  and  exclamations  of  the  un- 
kempt maid, —  all  these  strange  details  enchanted  him, 
and  they  all  set  off  very  vividly  the  intense,  nice,  honest, 
reassuring  Englishness  of  the  host  and  hostess. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  others  were  seated  for  the 
meal  that  Laurencine  made  her  appearance.  She  was 
a  magnificent  and  handsome  virgin,  big-boned,  physi- 
cally a  little  awkward,  candid.  How  exquisitely  and 
absurdly  she  flushed  in  shaking  hands  with  George ! 
With  what  a  delicious  mock-furious  setting  of  the  teeth 
and  tossing  of  the  head  she  frowned  at  her  mother's 
reproaches  for  being  late  !  This  family  knew  the  mean- 
ing of  intimacy  but  not  of  ceremony.  Laurencine  sat 
down  at  her  father's  left ;  George  was  next  to  her  on 
Mrs.  Ingram's  right.  Lois  had  the  whole  of  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  table. 

"Does  he  know.''"  Laurencine  asked,  and  turning 
to  George:     "Do  you  know.?" 

"Know  what.?" 

"  You'd  better  tell  him,  dad.  You  like  talking,  and 
he  ought  to  know.  I  shan't  be  able  to  eat  if  he  doesn't. 
It  would  be  so  ridiculous  sitting  here  and  pretending." 

Mrs.  Ingram  looked  upwards  across  the  room  at  a 
corner  of  the  ceiling,  and  smiled  faintly. 

"  You  might,"  she  said,  "  begin  by  asking  Mr.  Can- 
non if  he  particularly  wants  to  be  burdened  with  the 
weight  of  your  secrets,  my  dear  child." 

"  Oh !  I  particularly  do,"  said  George. 


COMPETITION  263 

"  There's  no  secret  about  it  —  at  least  there  won't 
be  soon,"  said  Laurencine. 

Lois  spoke  simultaneously: 

*'  My  dear  mother,  please  call  George  George.  If 
we  call  him  George,  you  can't  possibly  call  him  Mr. 
Cannon." 

"  I  quite  admit,"  Mrs.  Ingram  replied  to  her  eldest, 
"  I  quite  admit  that  you  and  Laurencine  are  entitled  to 
criticise  my  relations  with  my  husband,  because  he's 
your  father.  But  I  propose  to  carry  on  my  affairs 
with  other  men  just  according  to  my  own  ideas,  and  any 
interference  will  be  resented.  I've  had  a  bad  night, 
owing  to  the  garage  again,  and  I  don't  feel  equal  to 
calling  George  George.  I've  only  known  him  about 
twenty  minutes.  Moreover  I  might  be  misunderstood, 
mightn't  I,  Mr.  Cannon  ?  " 
You  might,"  said  George. 
Now,  dad !  "  Laurencine  admonished. 

Mr.  Ingram,  addressing  George,  began: 

"  Laurencine  suffers  from  a  grave  form  of  self-con- 
sciousness   " 

"  I  don't,  dad." 

"  It  is  a  disease  akin  to  conceit.  Her  sufferings  are 
sometimes  so  acute  that  she  cannot  sit  up  straight 
and  is  obliged  to  loll  and  curl  her  legs  round  the  legs 
of  the  chair.  We  are  all  very  sorry  for  her.  The 
only  treatment  is  brutal  candour,  as  she  herself  advo- 
cates   " 

Laurencine  jumped  up,  towered  over  her  father,  and 
covered  his  mouth  with  her  hand. 

"  This  simple  hand,"  said  Mr.  Ingram,  seizing  it, 
"  will  soon  bear  a  ring.  Laurencine  is  engaged  to  be 
married," 

*'  I'm  not,  father."     She  sat  down  again. 


264  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Well,  you  are  not.  But  you  will  be,  I  presume,  by 
post-time  to-night.  A  young  man  of  the  name  of 
Lucas  has  written  to  Laurencine  this  morning  in  a 
certain  sense,  and  he  has  also  written  to  rae.  Lauren- 
cine  has  seen  my  letter,  and  I've  seen  hers.  But  my 
envelope  contained  only  one  letter.  Whether  her 
envelope  contained  more  than  one,  whether  the  epistle 
which  I  saw  is  written  in  the  style  usually  practised  by 
the  present  age,  whether  it  was  composed  for  the  spe- 
cial purpose  of  being  shown  to  me,  I  do  not  know, 
and  discretion  and  nice  gentlemanly  feeling  forbid  me 
to  enquire.     However " 

At  this  point,  Laurencine  snatched  her  father's  nap- 
kin ofF  his  knees,  and  put  it  on  her  own. 

*'  However,  my  wife  and  I  have  met  this  Mr.  Lucas, 
and  as  our  opinion  about  him  is  not  wholly  unfavour- 
able, the  matter  was  satisfactorily  and  quickly  ar- 
ranged —  even  before  T  had  had  my  bath ;  Laurencine 
and  I  will  spend  the  afternoon  in  writing  suitable  com- 
munications to  Mr.  Lucas.  I  am  ready  to  show  her 
mine  for  a  shilling,  but  T  doubt  if  five  pounds  would 
procure  me  a  sight  of  hers.  Yet  she  is  only  an  ama- 
teur writer  and  I'm  a  professional." 

There  was  a  little  silence,  and  then  George  said, 
awkwardly : 

"  I  congratulate  old  Lucas." 

"  This  news  must  have  astonished  you  extremely," 
observed  Mr.  Ingram.  "  It  must  have  come  as  a  com- 
plete surprise.  In  fact  you  are  doubtless  in  the  con- 
dition known  to  charwomen  as  capable  of  being  knocked 
down  with  a  feather." 

"  Oh  !     Quite !  "  George  agreed. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  his  light  tone,  he  regretted 
the  engagement.  He  did  not  think  Lucas  was  worthy 
of  the  splendid  girl.     He  felt  sorry  for  her.     At  that 


COMPETITION  265 

moment  she  faced  him  bravely,  and  smiled.  Her  face 
had  a  tremendous  deep  crimson  flush.  There  was  a 
woman  somewhere  in  the  girl !  Strange  phenomenon ! 
And  another  strange  phenomenon:  if  Laurencine  had 
been  self-conscious,  George  also  was  self-conscious ;  and 
he  avoided  Lois'  eyes !  Why  ?  He  wondered  whether 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  had  come  to  Paris  and 
entered  the  Ingram  home  were  as  simple  and  ordinary 
as  they  superficially  appeared. 

"  Laurencine,"  said  her  mother,  "  give  your  father 
back  his  serviette." 

"  Mine's  fallen." 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Ingram  very  benev- 
olently, and  he  bent  down  and  retrieved  Laurencine's 
napkin,  which  he  kept.  "  And  now,"  he  proceeded, 
*'  the  serious  operation  being  over  and  the  patient  out 
of  danger,  shall  we  talk  about  something  else  for  a  fey 
moments  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so  indeed !  "  Laurencine  exclaimed, 
suddenly  gay.  "  George,  when  shall  you  know  about 
the  competition?  " 

"  Any  minute,  I  might,"  said  he. 

They  all  talked  sympathetically  to  George  on  the 
new  subject. 

After  lunch,  Lois  disappeared.  She  came  back  re- 
splendent for  the  races,  when  coffee  had  long  been  fin- 
ished in  the  drawing-room. 

Why  aren't  you  read}',  Laure.-*  "  she  demanded. 
I'm  not  going,  darling." 

Lois,"  Mr.  Ingram  exhorted.     "  Don't  forget  the 
afternoon  is  to  be  spent  in  literary  composition." 

"  It  isn't,"  Laurencine  contradicted.  "  I  ma}'  as 
well  tell  3'ou  I've  written  all  I  mean  to  write  in  the  way 
of  letters  for  one  day.  But  I  don't  want  to  go,  really, 
Lois  darling." 


a 


ii 


266  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  No.     She  wants  to  thinlc,"  Mrs.  Ingram  explained. 

Lois  set  her  lips  together,  and  then  glimpsed  herself 
in  the  large  mirror  over  the  anthracite  stove.  She 
looked  too  rich  and  complicated  for  that  simple  draw- 
ing-room. 

A  performance  on  a  horn  made  itself  heard  in  the 
street  below. 

"  There  he  is  !  "  said  Laurencine. 

She  opened  a  window  and  ran  out  on  to  the  balcony 
and  leaned  over ;  then  glanced  within  the  room  and 
nodded.  George  had  assumed  that  Irene  Wheeler  was 
the  author  and  hostess  of  the  race-party,  and  he  was 
not  mistaken.  Irene's  automobile  had  been  sent  round 
to  embark  him  and  the  girls.  Mrs.  Ingram  urged  him 
to  come  again  the  next  day,  and  he  said  ardently  that 
he  would.  Mrs.  Ingram's  affair  with  him  was  pro- 
gressing rapidly. 

"  But  I  hope  you'll  call  me  George,  then,"  he  added. 

"  I  may,"  she  said.     "  I  may !     I  may  go  even  fur- 


5> 


ther. 

Lois  and  George  descended  the  stairs  in  silence. 
He  had  not  seen  her,  nor  written  to  her,  since  the  night 
of  the  comedy  when  he  had  so  abruptly  loft  the  box. 
Once  or  twice  at  the  Ingrams'  he  had  fancied  that  she 
might  be  vexed  with  him  for  that  unceremonious  depar- 
ture. But  she  was  not.  The  frank  sigh  of  relief 
which  she  gave  on  reaching  the  foot  of  the  interminable 
stairs,  and  her  equally  frank  smile,  had  no  reserve 
whatever. 

The  chauffeur's  welcoming  grin  seemed  to  indicate 
that  he  was  much  attached  to  Miss  Ingram.  He 
touched  his  hat,  bowed,  and  spoke  to  her  at  some  length 
in  French.     Lois  frowned. 

"  It  seems  Miss  Wheeler  doesn't  feel  equal  to  going 
out  this  afternoon,"  she  translated  to  George.     "  But 


COI^IPETITION  267 

she  insists   that  we  shall  use  the  car  all  the  same." 

"  Is  she  Ul?  " 

"  She's  lying  down,  trying  to  sleep." 

"  Well,  then,  I  suppose  we'd  better  use  the  car,  hadn't 
we?  " 

Lois  said  seriously: 

"  If  you  don't  object,  I  don't." 

IV 

At  Longchamps  the  sun  most  candidly  and  lovingly 
blessed  the  elaborate  desecration  of  the  English  Sab- 
bath, The  delicately  ornamented  grand-stands,  the 
flags,  the  swards,  the  terraces,  the  alleys,  the  booths, 
the  notice-boards,  the  vast  dappled  sea  of  hats  and 
faces  in  the  distant  cheaper  parts  of  the  Hippodrome, 
were  laved  in  the  descending,  caressing  floods  of  volup- 
tuous, warm  sunshine.  The  air  itself  seemed  lumi- 
nous. The  enchantment  of  the  sun  was  irresistible ;  it 
stunned  apprehensions  and  sad  memories,  obliterating 
for  a  moment  all  that  was  or  might  be  unhappy  in  the 
past  or  in  the  future.  George  yielded  to  it.  He 
abandoned  his  preoccupations  about  the  unsatisfac- 
toriness  of  using  somebody  else's  car  in  the  absence  of 
the  owner,  about  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ingram's  ignorance  of 
the  fact  that  their  daughter  had  gone  off  alone  with 
him,  about  Lois'  perfect  indiff'erence  to  this  fact,  about 
the  engagement  of  Laurencine  to  a  man  not  her  equal 
in  worth,  about  the  strange  uncomfortable  eff'ect  of 
Laurencine's  engagement  upon  his  attitude  towards 
Lois,  and  finally  and  supremely  about  the  competition. 
He  gave  himself  up  to  the  bright  warmth  like  an  animal, 
and  forgot.  And  he  became  part  of  the  marvellous 
and  complicated  splendour  of  the  scene,  took  pride  in 
it,  took  even  credit  for  it  (heaven  knew  why!),  and 
gradually  passed  from  insular  astonishment  to  a  bland. 


268  THE  ROLL-CALL 

calm  acceptance  of  the  miracles  of  sensuous  beatitude 
which  civilisation  had  to  offer. 

After  all,  he  was  born  to  such  experiences ;  they 
were  his  right ;  and  he  was  equal  to  them.  Neverthe- 
less his  conviction  of  the  miraculous  fortunately  was 
not  impaired.  What  was  impaired  was  his  conviction 
of  his  own  culture.  He  was  constantl}'  thinking  that 
he  knew  everything  or  could  imagine  everything,  and 
constantly  undergoing  the  shock  of  undeception ;  but 
the  shock  of  the  Longchamps  Sunday  was  excessive. 
He  had  quite  failed  to  imagine  the  race-meeting;  he 
had  imagined  an  organism  brilliant,  perhaps,  but  bar- 
baric and  without  form  and  style;  he  had  imagined 
grotesque  contrasts  of  squalor,  rascality,  and  fashion ; 
he  had  imagined  an  affair  predominantl}'  equine  and 
masculine.  The  reality  did  not  correspond ;  it  trans- 
cended his  imagination ;  it  painfully  demonstrated  his 
jejune  crudity.  The  Hippodrome  was  as  formalised 
and  stylistic  as  an  Italian  garden ;  the  only  contrasts 
were  those  of  one  elegance  with  another ;  horses  were 
not  to  be  seen,  except  occasionally  in  the  distance 
when  under  their  riders  they  shot  past  some  dark  back- 
ground, a  flitting  blur  of  primary  colours  with  a  rum- 
ble of  muffled  thunder ;  and  women,  not  men,  predom- 
inated. 

On  entering  the  Hippodrome  George  and  Lois  had 
met  a  group  of  fashionably  attired  women,  and  he  had 
thought:  "There's  a  bunch  of  jolly  well-dressed 
ones."  But  as  the  reserved  precincts  opened  out  be- 
fore him  he  saw  none  but  fashionably  attired  women. 
They  were  there  not  in  hundreds  but  in  thousands. 
They  sat  in  rows  on  the  grand-stands ;  they  jostled  each 
other  on  the  staircases ;  they  thronged  the  alleys  and 
the  swards.  The  men  were  negligible  beside  them. 
And  they  were  not  only  fashionably  and  very  fashion- 


COMPETITION  269 

ably  attired  —  all  their  frocks  and  all  their  hats  and 
all  their  parasols  and  all  their  boots  were  new,  glit- 
tering, spick-and-span ;  were  complex  and  expensive ; 
not  one  feared  the  sun.  The  conception  of  what  those 
innumerable  chromatic  toilettes  had  cost  in  the  toil, 
stitch  by  stitch,  of  malodorous  workrooms  and  in  the 
fatigue  of  pale  industrious  creatures  was  really  formid- 
able. But  it  could  not  detract  from  the  scenic  triumph. 
The  scenic  triumph  dazzlingly  justified  itself,  and 
proved  beyond  any  cavilling  that  earth  was  a  grand, 
intoxicating  place,  and  Longchamps  under  the  sun  an 
unequalled  paradise  of  the  senses.  .  .  •  Ah !  These 
women  were  finished  —  finished  to  the  least  detail  of 
coiffure,  sunshade-handle,  hat-pin,  jewellery,  handbag, 
boot-lace,  glove,  stocking,  lingerie.  Each  was  the  prod- 
uct of  many  arts  in  co-ordination.  Each  was  of  great 
price.  And  there  were  thousands  of  them.  They  were 
as  cheap  as  periwinkles.  George  thought :  "  This  is 
Paris." 

He  said  aloud: 

"  Seems  to  be  a  fine  lot  of  new  clothes  knocking 
about." 

Evidently  for  Lois  his  tone  was  too  impressed,  not 
suflScientl}"  casual.  She  replied,  in  her  condescending 
manner,  which  he  detested : 

"  My  poor  George,  considering  that  this  is  the  open- 
ing of  the  spring  season,  and  the  place  where  all  the 
new  spring  fashions  are  tried  out, —  what  did  you 
expect.''  " 

The  dolt  had  not  known  tliat  he  was  assisting-  at  a 
solemnity  recognised  as  such  by  experts  throughout  the 
clothed  world.  But  Lois  knew  all  those  things.  She 
herself  was  trying  out  a  new  toilette,  for  which  doubt- 
less Irene  Wheeler  was  partly  sponsor.  She  could  hold 
her  own  on  the  terraces  with  the  rest.     She  was  stag- 


no  THE  ROLL-CALL 

geringly  different,  now,  from  the  daughter  of  the  simple 
home  in  the  Rue  d'Athenes. 

The  eyes  of  the  splendid  women  aroused  George's 
antipathy,  because  he  seemed  to  detect  antipathy  in 
them, —  not  against  himself  but  against  the  male  in 
him.  These  women,  though  by  their  glances  they 
largely  mistrusted  and  despised  each  other,  had  the  air 
of  having  combined  sexually  against  a  whole  sex.  The 
situation  was  very  contradictory.  They  had  beauti- 
fied and  ornamented  themselves  in  order  to  attract  a 
whole  sex,  and  yet  they  appeared  to  resent  the  neces- 
sitj^  and  instinct  to  attract.  They  submitted  with  a 
secret  repugnance  to  the  mysterious  and  supreme  bond 
which  kept  the  sexes  inexorably  together.  And  while 
stooping  to  fascinate,  while  deliberately  seeking  atten- 
tion, they  still  had  the  assured  mien  of  conquerors. 
Their  eyes  said  that  they  knew  they  were  indispensable, 
that  they  had  a  transcendent  role  to  play,  that  no  con- 
cealed baseness  of  the  inimical  sex  was  hidden  from 
them,  and  that  they  meant  to  exploit  their  position  to 
the  full.  These  Latin  women  exhibited  a  logic,  an  ele- 
gance, and  a  frankness  beyond  the  reach  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon.  Their  eyes  said,  not  that  they  had  been  dis- 
illusioned, but  rather  that  they  had  never  had  illusions. 
They  admitted  the  facts ;  they  admitted  everything, — 
economic  dependence,  chicane,  the  intention  to  seize 
every  advantage,  rutliless  egotism.  They  had  no  shame 
for  a  depravity  which  they  shared  equally  with  the  in- 
escapable and  cherished  enemy.  And  it  was  the  young- 
est who,  beneath  the  languishing  and  the  softness  and 
the  invitation  deceitful  and  irresistible,  gazed  out  most 
triumphantly  to  the  enemy :  "  You  are  the  victims, 
— we  have  tried  our  strength  and  your  infirmity." 
They  were  heroic.  There  was  a  feeling  in  tlie  bright 
air  of  melancholy  and  doom  as  the  two  hostile  forces, 


COMPETITION  271 

inseparable,  inextricably  involved  together,  surveyed 
the  opponent  in  the  everlasting  conflict.  George  felt 
its  influence  upon  himself,  upon  Lois,  upon  the  whole 
scene.  The  eyes  of  the  most  feminine  women  in  the 
world,  denying  their  smiles  and  their  lure,  had  discov- 
ered to  him  something  which  marked  a  definite  change  in 
his  philosophy  of  certain  ultimate  earthly  values. 

Lois  said: 

"  Perhaps  a  telegram  is  waiting  for  you  at  the  hotel." 

"  Well,  I  can  wait  till  I  get  back,"  he  replied 
stoutly. 

He  thought,  looking  at  her  by  his  side : 

"She  is  just  like  these  French  women!"  And  for 
some  reason  he  felt  proud. 

"  You  needn't,"  said  Lois.  "  We  can  telephone  from 
under  the  grand-stand  if  you  like." 

"  But  I  don't  know  the  number." 

"  We  can  get  that  out  of  the  book,  of  course." 

"  I  don't  reckon  I  can  use  these  French  telephones." 

"  Oh !  ]\Iy  poor  boy,  I'll  telephone  for  you  —  un- 
less you  prefer  not  to  risk  knowing  the  worst." 

Yes,  her  tone  was  the  tone  of  a  strange  woman.  And 
it  was  she  who  thirsted  for  the  result  of  the  competi- 
tion. 

Controlling  himself,  submissively  he  asked  her  to 
telephone  for  him,  and  she  agreed  in  a  delightfully 
agreeable  voice.  She  seemed  to  know  the  entire  geog- 
raphy of  the  Hippodrome.  She  secured  a  telephone- 
cabin  in  a  very  business-like  manner.  As  she  entered 
the  cabin  she  said  to  George: 

"  I'll  ask  them  if  a  telegram  has  come,  and  if  it  has 
I'll  ask  them  to  open  it  and  read  it  to  me  —  or  spell  it, 
of  course  it'll  be  in  English  .   .   .  Eh?" 

Through  the  half-open  door  of  the  cabin  he  watched 
her   and  listened.     She   rapidly   turned   over   the   foul 


272  THE  ROLL-CALL 

and  torn  pages  of  the  telephone-book  with  her  thumb. 
She  spoke  into  the  instrument  very  clearly,  curtly  and 
authoritatively.  George  could  translate  in  his  mind 
what  she  said, —  his  great  resolve  to  learn  French  had 
carried  him  so  far. 

"  On  the  part  of  Monsieur  Cannon,  one  of  your 
clients.  Monsieur  Cannon  of  London.  Has  there  ar- 
rived a  telegram  for  him?  " 

She  waited.  The  squalor  of  the  public  box  increased 
the  effect  of  her  young  and  proud  stylishness  and  of  her 
perfume.  George  waited,  humbled  by  her  superior 
skill  in  the  arts  of  life,  and  saying  anxiously  to  himself : 
"  Perhaps  in  a  moment  I  shall  know  the  result,"  almost 
trembling. 

She  hung  up  the  instrument,  and  with  a  glance  at 
George  shook  her  head. 

"  There  isn't  anything,"  she  murmured. 

He  said: 

"  It's  very  queer,  isn't  it?     However.   .   .   ." 

As  they  emerged  from  the  arcana  of  the  grand- 
stand, Lois  was  stopped  by  a  tall,  rather  handsome  Jew, 
who,  saluting  her  with  what  George  esteemed  to  be 
French  exaggeration  of  gesture,  nevertheless  addressed 
her  in  a  confidential  tone  in  English.  George,  having 
with  British  restraint  acknowledged  the  salute,  stood 
aside  and  gazed  discreetly  away  from  the  pair.  He 
could  not  hear  what  was  being  said.  After  several 
minutes  Lois  rejoined  George,  and  the}'  went  back  into 
the  crowds  and  the  sun.  She  did  not  speak.  She  did 
not  utter  one  word.  Onl}^  when  the  numbers  went  up 
for  a  certain  race,  she  remarked : 

"  This  is  the  Prix  du  Cadran.  It's  the  principal 
race  of  the  afternoon." 

And  when  that  was  over,  amid  cheering  that  ran 
about  the  field  like  fire  through  dried  bush,  she  added : 


COMPETITION  ns 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  go  back  now.  I  told  the 
chauffeur  to  be  here  after  the  Prix  du  Cadran.  What 
time  is  it  exactly?  " 

They  sat  side  by  side  in  the  long  open  car,  facing 
the  chauffeur's  creaseless  back.  After  passing  the 
Cascade,  the  car  swerved  into  the  Allee  de  Longchanips, 
which  led  in  an  absolutely  straight  line  two  miles  long 
to  the  Port  Maillot  and  the  city.  Spring  decorated 
the  magnificent  wooded  thoroughfare.  The  side-alleys, 
aisles  of  an  interminable  nave,  were  sprinkled  with 
revellers  and  lovers  and  the  most  respectable  families 
half  hidden  amid  black  branches  and  gleams  of  tender 
green.  Automobiles  and  carriages  threaded  the  main 
alley  at  varying  speeds.  The  number  of  ancient  horse- 
cabs  gradually  increased  until,  after  the  intersection 
of  the  Allee  de  la  Reine  Marguerite,  they  thronged  the 
vast  road.  All  the  humble  and  shabby  genteel  people 
in  Paris  who  could  possibly  afford  a  cab  seemed  to 
have  taken  a  cab.  Nearly  every  cab  was  over-loaded. 
The  sight  of  this  vast  pathetic  effort  of  the  disinher- 
ited towards  gaiety  and  distraction  and  the  mood  of 
spring  intensified  the  vague  sadness  in  George  due  to 
the  race-crowd,  Lois'  silence,  and  the  lack  of  news 
about  the  competition. 

At  length  Lois  said,  scowling  —  no  doubt  involun- 
tarily : 

"  I  think  I'd  better  tell  you  now.  Irene  Wheeler's 
committed  suicide.  Shot  herself."  She  pressed  her 
lips  together  and  looked  at  the  road. 

George  gave  a  startled  exclamation.  He  could  not 
for  an  instant  credit  the  astounding  news. 

"  But  how  do  you  know?     Who  told  you?  " 

"  The  man  who  spoke  to  me  in  the  grand-stand. 
He's  correspondent  of  The  London  Courier — friend 
of  father's  of  course." 


^74  THE  ROLL-CALL 

George  protested: 

"  Then  why  on  earth  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  .  .  . 
Shot  herself?     What  for?  " 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  before  because  I  couldn't." 

All  the  violence  of  George's  nature  came  to  the  sur- 
face as  he  said  brutally : 

"  Of  course  you  could  !  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  couldn't ! "  she  cried.  "  I  knew  the 
car  wouldn't  be  there  for  us  until  after  the  Prix  du 
Cadran.  And  if  I'd  told  you  I  couldn't  have  borne  to 
be  walking  about  that  place  three  quarters  of  an  hour. 
We  should  have  had  to  talk  about  it.  I  couldn't  have 
borne  that.     And  so  you  needn't  be  cross,  please." 

But  her  voice  did  not  break,  nor  her  eyes  shine. 

"  I  was  wondering  whether  I  should  tell  the  chauffeur 
at  once,  or  let  him  find  it  out." 

"  I  should  let  him  find  it  out,"  said  George.  "  He 
doesn't  know  that  you  know.  Besides,  it  might  upset 
his  driving." 

"  Oh !  I  shouldn't  mind  about  his  driving,"  Lois 
murmured  disdainfully. 


When  the  uninformed  chauffeur  drove  the  car  witK 
a  grand  sweep  under  the  marquise  of  the  ostentatious 
pale  yellow  block  in  the  Avenue  Hoche  where  Irene 
Wheeler  had  had  her  flat,  Mr.  Ingram  and  a  police- 
agent  were  standing  on  the  steps,  but  nobody  else  was 
near.  Little  Mr.  Ingram  came  forward  anxiously,  his 
eyes  humid  and  his  face  drawn  with  pain  and  distress. 

"  We  know,"  said  Lois.  "  I  met  Mr.  Cardow  at 
Longchamps.     He  knew." 

Mr.  Ingram's  pain  and  distress  seemed  to  increase. 

He  said,  after  a  moment: 

"  Alfred  will  drive  you  home,  dear,  at  once.     Alfred, 


COMPETITION  275 

vous  seriez  gentU  de  reconduire  Mademoiselle  a  la  rue 
d'Athenes."  He  had  the  air  of  supplicating  the  amiable 
chauffeur.  "  Mr.  Cannon,  I  particularly  want  a  few 
words  with  you." 

"  But,  father,  I  must  come  in ! "  said  Lois.  "  I 
must " 

"  You  will  go  home  immediately.  Please,  please  do 
not  add  to  m^^  difficulties.  I  shall  come  home  myself 
as  quickly  as  possible.  You  can  do  nothing  here. 
The  seals  have  been  affixed." 

Lois  raised  her  chin  in  silence. 

Then  Mr.  Ingram  turned  to  the  police-agent,  spoke 
to  him  in  French,  and  pointed  to  the  car  persuasively ; 
and  the  police-agent  permissively  nodded.  The 
chauffeur,  with  an  affectation  of  detachment  worthy 
of  the  greatest  days  of  valetry,  drove  off,  leaving 
George  behind.     Mr.  Ingram  descended  the  steps. 

"  I  think  perhaps  we  might  go  to  a  cafe,"  said  he 
in  a  tone  which  dispersed  George's  fear  of  a  discus- 
sion as  to  the  propriety  of  the  unchaperoned  visit  to 
the  races. 

They  sat  down  on  the  terrasse  of  a  larffe  cafe  near 
the  Place  des  Ternes,  a  few  hundred  yards  away  from 
the  Avenue  Hoche.  The  cafe  was  nearly  emptv,  citi- 
zens being  either  in  the  Bois  or  on  the  main  boule- 
vards. Mr.  Ingram  sadly  ordered  bocks.  The  waiter 
flapping  his  long  apron  called  out  in  a  loud  voice  as 
he  went  within :  "  Deux  blonds,  deux."  George  sup- 
plied cigarettes. 

"  Mr.  Cannon,"  began  :Mr.  Ingram,  "  it  is  advisable 
for  me  to  tell  you  a  most  marvellous  and  painful  story. 
I  have  only  just  heard  it.  It  has  overwhelmed  me, 
but  I  must  do  my  duty."     He  paused. 

"  Certainly,"  said  George,  self-consciously,  not 
knowing  what  to   say.     He  nearly  blushed   as,   in   an 


276  THE  ROLL-CALL 

attempt  to  seem  at  ease,  he  gazed  negligent^  round 
at  the  rows  of  chairs  and  marble-tables,  and  at  the 
sparse  traffic  of  the  somnolent  Place. 

Mr.  Ingram  proceeded. 

"  When  I  first  knew  Irene  Wheeler  she  was  an  art 
student  here.  So  was  I.  But  I  was  already  married 
of  course,  and  older  than  she.  Exactly  what  her  age 
was  I  should  not  care  to  say.  I  can,  however,  say 
quite  truthfully  that  her  appearance  has  scarcely  al- 
tered in  those  nineteen  years.  She  always  affirmed  that 
her  relatives,  in  Indianapolis,  were  wealth}'  —  or  at  least 
had  money,  but  that  they  were  very  mean  with  her. 
She  lived  in  the  simplest  way.  As  for  me,  I  had  to 
give  up  art  for  something  less  capricious,  but  ca- 
pricious enough  in  all  conscience.  Miss  Wheeler  went 
to  America  and  was  awa}'  for  some  time  —  a  year  or 
two.  When  she  came  back  to  Paris  she  told  us  that 
she  had  made  peace  with  her  people,  and  that  her 
uncle,  whom  for  present  purposes  I  will  call  Mr.  X,  a 
very  celebrated  railway  magnate  in  Indianapolis,  had 
adopted  her.  Her  new  manner  of  life  amply  confirmed 
these  statements." 

"  Deux  bocks,"  cried  the  waiter,  slapping  down  on 
the  table  two  saucers  and  two  stout  glass  mugs  filled 
with  frothing  golden  liquid. 

George,  unaccustomed  to  the  ritual  of  cafes,  began 
at  once  to  sip,  but  Mr.  Ingram,  aware  that  the  true 
boulevardier  always  ignores  his  bock  for  several  min- 
utes, behaved  accordingly. 

"  She  was  evidently  extremely  rich.  I  have  had 
some  experience,  and  I  estimate  that  she  had  the  han- 
dling of  at  least  half  a  million  francs  a  year.  She 
seemed  to  be  absolutely  her  own  mistress.  You  have 
had  an  opportunity  of  judging  her  style  of  existence. 
However,  her  attitude  towards  ourselves  was  entirely 


COMPETITION  277 

unchanged.  She  remained  intimate  with  my  wife,  who 
I  may  say  is  an  excellent  judge  of  character,  and  she 
was  exceedingly  kind  to  our  girls,  especially  Lois  — 
but  Laurencine  too  —  and  as  they  grew  up  she  treated 
them  like  sisters.  Now,  jNIr.  Cannon,  I  shall  be  per- 
fectly frank  with  you.  I  shall  not  pretend  that  I  was 
not  rather  useful  to  Miss  Wheeler  —  I  mean  in  the 
press.  She  had  social  ambitions.  And  why  not? 
One  ma}'^  condescend  towards  them,  but  do  they  not 
serve  a  purpose  in  the  structure  of  society?  Very 
rich  as  she  was,  it  was  easy  for  me  to  be  useful  to  her. 
And  at  worst  her  pleasure  in  publicity  was  quite  inno- 
cent,—  indeed  it  was  so  innocent  as  to  be  charming. 
Naive,  shall  we  call  it?  " 

Here  Mr.  Ingram  smiled  sadly,  tasted  his  bock,  and 
threw  away  the  end  of  a  cigarette. 

"  Well,"  he  resumed,  "  I  am  coming  to  the  point. 
This  is  the  point,  which  I  have  learnt  scarcely  an  hour 
ago, —  I  was  called  up  on  the  telephone  immediately 
after  you  and  Lois  had  gone.  This  is  the  point.  Mr. 
X  was  not  poor  Irene's  uncle,  and  he  had  not  adopted 
her.  But  it  was  his  money  that  she  was  spending." 
Mr.  Ingram  gazed  fixedly  at  George. 

"  I  see,"  said  George  calmly,  rising  to  the  role  of 
man  of  the  world.  "  I  see."  He  had  strange  mixed 
sensations  of  pleasure,  pride,  and  confusion.  "  And 
you've  just  found  this  out?  " 

"  I  have  just  found  it  out  from  Mr.  X  himself,  whom 
I  met  for  the  first  time  to-day, —  in  poor  Irene's  flat. 
I  never  assisted  at  such  a  scene.  Never !  It  posi- 
tively unnerved  me.  Mr.  X  is  a  man  of  fifty-five, 
fabulously  wealthy,  used  to  command,  autocratic, 
famous  in  all  the  Stock  Exchanges  of  the  world.  When 
I  tell  you  that  he  cried  like  a  child.  .  .  .  Oh !  I  never 
had  such  an  experience.     His  infatuation  for  Irene  — 


278  THE  ROLL-CALL 

indescribable !  Indescribable  !  She  had  made  her  own 
terms  with  liim.  He  told  me  himself.  Astounding 
terms,  but  for  him  it  was  those  terms  or  nothing.  He 
accepted  them  —  had  to.  She  was  to  be  quite  free. 
The  most  absolute  discretion  was  to  be  observed.  He 
came  to  Paris  or  London  every  year,  and  sometimes 
she  went  to  America.  She  utterly  refused  to  live  in 
America." 

"  Why  didn't   she  marry   him  ?  " 

*'  He  has  a  wife.  I  have  no  doubt  in  m}"^  own  mind 
that  one  of  his  reasons  for  accepting  her  extraordinary 
terms  was  to  keep  in  close  touch  with  her  at  all  costs 
in  case  his  wife  should  die.  Otherwise  he  might  have 
lost  her  altogether.  He  told  me  many  things  about 
poor  Irene's  famil}'  in  Indianapolis  which  I  will  not 
repeat.  It  was  true  that  they  had  money,  as  Irene 
said ;  but  as  for  anything  else.  .  .  . !  The  real  name 
was  not  Wheeler." 

"  Has  he  been  over  here  long?  " 

"  He  landed  at  Cherbourg  last  night.  Just  ar- 
rived." 

"  And  she  killed  herself  at  once." 

"  Whether  the  deed  was  done  immediately  before  or 
immediately  after  his  arrival  is  not  yet  established. 
And  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  Mr.  X  has  already 
fixed  up  arrangements  not  to  appear  in  the  case  at  all. 
But  one  thing  is  sure  —  she  had  made  all  the  prepara- 
tions for  suicide,  made  them  with  the  greatest  care. 
The  girls  saw  her  yesterday,  and  both  Lois  and  I 
spoke  to  her  on  the  telephone  this  morning.  Not  a 
trace  of  anything  in  her  voice.  I  assume  she  had  given 
a  message  for  Lois  to  the  chauffeur." 

"  Yes,"  said  George.     "  We  never  dreamed " 

"  Of  course  not.     Of  course  not." 


COMPETITION  279 

"  But  why  did  she " 

"  Another  man,  my  dear  sir !  Another  man !  A 
young  man  named  Defourcambault,  in  the  French  Em- 
bassy in  London." 

"  Oh,  him !  "  George  burst  out.  "  I  know  him,"  he 
added  fiercel3\ 

"You  do.^*  Yes,  I  remember  Laurencine  saying. 
.  .  .  Poor  Irene,  I  fear,  was  very  deeply  in  love  with 
him.  She  had  written  to  Mr.  X  about  Defourcam- 
bault. He  showed  me  the  letter  —  most  touching, 
really  most  touching.  His  answer  to  it  was  to  come 
to  Europe  at  once.  But  poor  Irene's  death  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  his  coming.  She  did  not  know  he  was 
coming.  She  shot  herself  as  she  lay  in  bed,  and  on  the 
pillow  was  a  letter  from  this  man  Defourcambault  — 
well,  saying  good-bye  to  her.  I  saw  the  letter.  Not 
a  letter  that  I  should  wish  to  remember.  Perhaps  she 
had  told  him  something  of  her  life.  I  much  fear  that 
Defourcambault  will  be  fetched  from  London,  though  I 
hope  not.  There  would  be  no  object.  .  .  .  No,  thank 
you.  I  will  not  smoke  again.  I  only  wanted  to  say 
this  to  you.  All  Paris  knows  that  m}^  daughters  were 
intimate  with  poor  Irene.  Now,  if  anything  comes  out, 
if  anything  should  come  out,  if  there's  any  talk, —  you 
see  my  fear.  I  wish  to  assure  you,  Mr.  Cannon,  that 
I  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion,  not  the  slightest. 
And  yet  we  journalists  cannot  exactly  be  called  in- 
genuous !  But  I  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion,  nor 
had  my  wife.  You  know  the  situation  between  Lauren- 
cine  and  3^our  friend  Lucas.  You  and  he  are  very 
intimate,  I  believe.  May  I  count  on  you  to  explain 
everytliing  from  my  point  of  view  to  Mr.  Lucas?  I 
could  not  bear  that  the  least  cloud  should  rest  upon  my 
little  Laurencine." 


280  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  You  needn't  trouble  about  Lucas,"  said  George 
positively.  "  Lucas'll  be  all  right.  Still,  I'll  talk  to 
him." 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  Thank  you  very  much.  I 
knew  I  could  rely  on  you.  I've  kept  j^ou  a  long  time, 
but  I'm  sure  you  understand.  I'm  thinking  only  of  my 
girls.  Not  for  anything  would  I  have  them  know  the 
truth  about  the  affair." 

"  But  aren't  thej^  bound  to  know  it  ?  "  George  asked. 

Mr.  Ingram  was  wounded.  "  I  hope  not.  I  hope 
not,"  he  said  gravely.  "  It  is  not  right  that  young 
girls  should  know  such  things." 

"  But  surely  sooner  or  later " 

"  Ah  !  After  they  are  married,  conceivably.  That 
would  be  quite  different,"  he  admitted  with  cheerful- 
ness. "  And  now,"  he  smiled.  "  I'm  afraid  I've  got  to 
go  and  write  the  case  up  for  London.  I  can  catch  the 
mail,  I  think.  If  not,  I  must  cable.  But  they  hate 
me  to  cable  when  the  mail  is  possible.  Can  I  drop  you 
anywhere .''  " 

Simultaneously,  he  signalled  to  a  taxi  and  knocked 
on  the  window  for  the  attendance  of  the  waiter. 

"  Thanks.  If  you're  going  anywhere  near  the  Place 
de  I'Opcra,"  said  George. 

VI 

He  was  excited,  rather  than  saddened,  by  the  tragic 
event.  He  was  indeed  very  excited.  And  also  he  had 
a  deep  satisfaction,  because  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  at  last  been  truly  admitted  into  the  great  secret 
fellowship  of  adult  males.  The  initiation  flattered  his 
pride.  He  left  Mr.  Ingram  at  the  door  of  an  English 
newspaper  office  in  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  and, 
after  vainly  asking  for  telegrams  at  the  hotel,  walked 
away,  aimlessly   at  first,   along  broad  pavements  en- 


COMPETITION  281 

cumbered  with  the  chairs  and  tables  of  vast,  crowded 
cafes,  and  with  bright  Sunday  idlers  and  sinister  street- 
vendors.  But  in  a  moment  he  had  decided  that  he  must 
and  ought  to  pay  a  call  in  the  Rue  d'Athenes.  Mr. 
Ingram  had  said  nothing  about  his  seeing  Lois  again, 
had  not  referred  to  Mrs.  Ingram's  invitation  to  repeat 
his  visit,  might  even  vaguely  object  to  an  immediate 
interview  between  him  and  Lois.  Yet  he  could  not,  as 
a  man  of  the  world,  abandon  Lois  so  unceremoniously. 
He  owed  something  to  Lois  and  he  owed  something  to 
himself.  And  he  was  a  free  adult.  The  call  was  nat- 
ural and  necessary,  and  if  Mr.  Ingram  did  not  like  it  he 
must,  in  the  Five  Towns  phrase,  lump  it.  George  set 
off  to  find  the  Rue  d'Athenes  unguided.  It  was  pleas- 
urable to  tliink  that  there  was  a  private  abode  in  the 
city  of  cafes,  hotels,  and  museums,  to  which  he  had  the 
social  right  of  entry. 

The  watching  concierge  of  the  house  nodded  to  him 
politely  as  he  began  to  mount  the  stairs.  The  Ingrams' 
servant  smiled  upon  him  as  upon  an  old  and  familiarly- 
respected  friend. 

"  Mademoiselle  Lois?  "  he  said  with  directness. 

The  slatternly  benevolent  girl  widened  her  mouth 
still  further  in  a  smile  still  more  cordial,  and  led  him 
to  the  drawing-room.  As  she  did  so  she  picked  up  a 
newspaper-packet  that  lay  on  a  table  in  the  tiny  hall, 
and,  without  putting  it  on  a  salver,  deposited  it  in  front 
of  Lois,  who  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room.  George 
wondered  what  Lois  would  have  thought  of  such  an 
outrage  upon  established  ritual  had  it  happened  to 
her  in  the  home  of  Irene  Wheeler  instead  of  in  her  own ; 
and  then  the  imagined  vision  of  Irene  lying  dead  in  the 
sumptuous  home  in  the  Avenue  Hoche  seemed  to  render 
all  established  ritual  absurd. 

"  So     you've     come ! "     exclaimed     Lois     harshly. 


282  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Mother's  quite  knocked  over,  and  Laurencine's  look- 
ing after  her.  All  the  usual  eau-de-Cologne  business. 
And  I  should  say  father's  not  much  better.  My  poor 
parents!     What  did  dad  want  you  for?" 

The  servant  had  closed  the  door.  Lois  had  got  up 
from  her  chair  and  was  walking  about  the  room,  pulling 
aside  a  curtain  and  looking  out,  tapping  the  mantel- 
piece with  her  hand,  tapping  with  her  feet  the  base  of 
the  stove.  George  had  the  sensation  of  being  locked 
in  a  cage  with  a  mysterious,  incalculable  and  powerful 
animal.  He  was  fascinated.  He  thought :  "  I  wanted 
to  see  her  alone  and  I  am  seeing  her  alone." 

"Well.?"  she  insisted.  "What  did  dad  want  you 
for.?" 

"  Oh  !     He  told  me  a  few  things  about  Miss  Wheeler." 

"  I  suppose  he  told  you  about  Jules,  and  I  suppose 
he  told  you  I  wasn't  to  know  on  any  account !  Poor 
old  dad !  Instead  of  feeling  he's  my  father,  d'you  know 
what  I  feel.?  I  feel  as  if  I  was  his  mother.  He's  so 
clever ;  he's  frightfully  clever ;  but  he  was  never  meant 
for  this  world.  He's  just  a  beautiful  child.  How  in 
heaven's  name  could  he  think  that  a  girl  like  me  could 
be  intimate  with  Irene,  and  not  know  about  the  things 
that  were  in  her  mind.?  How  could  he.?  Why!  I've 
talked  for  hours  with  Irene  about  Jules !  She'd  much 
sooner  talk  with  me  even  than  with  mother.  She's 
cried  in  front  of  me.  But  I  never  cried.  I  always 
told  her  she  was  making  a  mistake  about  Jules.  I  de- 
tested the  little  worm.  But  she  couldn't  see  it.  No, 
she  couldn't.  She'd  have  quarrelled  with  me  if  I'd  let 
her  quarrel.  However,  I  wouldn't  let  her.  Fancy 
quarrelling  —  over  a  man !  She  couldn't  help  being 
mad  over  Jules.  '  I  told  her  she  couldn't  —  that  was 
why  I  bore  with  her.  I  always  told  her  he  was  only 
playing  with   her.     The   one   thing  that   I   didn't  tell 


COMPETITION  283 

her  was  that  she  was  too  old  for  him.  She  really  be- 
lieved she  never  got  any  older.  When  I  say  too  old 
for  him,  I  mean  for  her  sake,  not  for  his.  He  didn't 
think  she  was  too  old.  He  couldn't  —  with  that  com- 
plexion of  hers.  I  never  envied  her  anything  else  ex- 
cept her  complexion  and  her  money.  But  he  wouldn't 
marry  an  American.  His  people  wouldn't  let  him. 
He's  got  to  marry  into  a  family  like  his  own,  and 
there  're  only  about  ten  for  him  to  choose  from.  I  know 
she  wrote  to  him  on  Thursday.  She  must  have  had 
the  answer  this  morning.  Of  course  she  had  a  revolver. 
I've  got  one  myself.  She  went  to  bed  and  did  it.  She 
used  to  say  to  me  that  if  ever  she  did  it  that  was  how 
she  would  do  it.  .  .  .  And  father  tells  me  not  to  add 
to  his  difficulties!  Don't  3'OU  think  it's  comic?  .  .  . 
But  she  did  not  tell  me  everything.  I  knew  that.  I  ac- 
cused her  of  not  telling  me  everj^thing.  She  admitted 
it.     However.  .  .  ." 

Lois  spoke  in  a  low  regular  murmur,  experimentally 
aware  that  privacy  in  a  Paris  flat  is  relative.  There 
were  four  doors  in  the  walls  of  the  drawing-room,  and  a 
bedroom  on  either  side.  At  moments  George  could 
scarcely  catch  her  words.  He  had  never  heard  her 
say  so  much  at  once,  for  she  was  taciturn  by  habit, 
even  awkward  in  conversation.  She  glowered  at  him 
darkl3^  The  idea  flashed  through  his  mind :  "  There 
can't  be  another  girl  like  her.  She's  unique."  He  al- 
most trembled  at  the  revelation.  He  was  afraid,  and 
yet  courageous,  challenging,  combative.  She  had 
grandeur.  It  might  be  moral,  or  not ;  but  it  was  gran- 
deur. And — (that  touch  about  the  complexion!) 
—  she  could  remember  her  freckles !  She  might,  in 
her  hard  egotism,  in  the  rushing  impulses  of  her  appe- 
tites,—  she  might  be  an  enemy,  an  enemy  to  close 
with  whom  would  be  terrible  rapture,  and  the  war  of 


284  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  sexes  was  a  sublime  war,  infinitely  superior  in  emo- 
tions to  tame  peace.  (And  had  she  not  been  certified 
an  angel?  Had  he  not  himself  seen  the  angel  in  her?) 
She  dwarfed  her  father  and  mother.  The  conception, 
especially,  of  Mr.  Ingram  at  lunch,  deliciously  pla3'ful 
and  dominating,  and  now  with  the  adroit  wit  crushed 
out  of  him  and  only  a  naive  sentimentality  left,  was 
comic  —  as  she  had  ruthlessly  characterised  it.  She 
alone  towered  formidably  over  the  devastated  ruins  of 
Irene's  earthly  splendour. 

He  said  nothing. 

She  rang  the  bell  by  the  mantelpiece.  He  heard  it 
ring.     No  answer.      She  rang  again. 

"  Arrivez  done,  jeune  fille! "  she  exclaimed  impa- 
tiently. 

The  servant  came. 

"  Apportez  du  the,  Seraphine." 

"  Oui,  mademoiselle.^^ 

Then  Lois  lounged  towards  the  table  and  tore  sharply 
the  wrapper  of  the  newspaper.  George  was  still  stand- 
ing. 

"  He's  probably  got  something  in  about  her  this 
week  —  about  her  soiree  last  Tuesday.  We  weren't 
invited.     Of  course  he  went." 

George  saw  the  name  The  Sunday  Journal.  The  pa- 
per had  come  by  the  afternoon  mail,  and  had  been  de- 
livered, according  to  weekly  custom,  by  messenger  from 
Mr.  Ingram's  ofl'ice.  Lois'  tone  and  attitude  tore 
fatally  the  whole  factitious  "  Parisian  "  tradition,  as 
her  hand  had  torn  the  wrapper. 

"  See  here,"  she  said  quietly,  after  a  few  seconds,  and 
gave  him  the  newspaper,  with  her  thumb  indicating  a 
paragraph. 

He  could  hardly   read  the  heading,  because  it   un- 


COMPETITION  285 

nerved  him ;  nor  the  opening  lines.  But  he  read  this : 
*'  The  following  six  architects  have  been  selected  by  the 
Assessors  and  will  be  immediately  requested  by  the 
Corporation  to  submit  final  designs  for  the  town-hall: 

Mr.  Whinburn,  Mr.  ,  Mr.  ,  Mr.  George  E. 

Cannon.  .  .  ." 

"  What  did  I  always  tell  you  ?  "  she  said. 

And  then  she  said : 

"  Your  telegram  must  have  been  addressed  wrong  or 
something." 

He  sat  down.  Once  again  he  was  afraid.  He  was 
afraid  of  winning  in  the  final  competition !  A  vista 
of  mayors,  corporations,  town-clerks,  committees,  con- 
tractors, clerks-of-works,  frightened  him.  He  was 
afraid  of  his  immaturity,  of  his  inexperience.  He  could 
not  carry  out  the  enterprise ;  he  would  reap  only  ig- 
nominy. His  greatest  desire  had  been  granted.  He 
had  expected,  in  the  event,  to  be  wildly  happy.  But 
he  was  not  happy." 

"  Well,  I'm  blowed  1 "  he  exclaimed. 

Lois,  who  had  resumed  the  paper,  read  out: 

"  In  accordance  with  the  conditions  of  the  competi- 
tion, each  of  the  above  named  will  receive  an  honor- 
arium of  one  hundred  guineas." 

She  looked  at  him. 

"  You'll  get  that  towTi-hall  to  do,"  she  said,  posi- 
tively.    "  You're  bound  to  get  it.     You'll  see." 

Her  incomprehensible  but  convincing  faith  passed 
mysteriously  into  him.  A  holy  dew  relieved  him.  He 
began  to  feel  happy. 

Lois  glanced  again  at  the  paper,  which  with  arms 
outstretched  she  held  in  front  of  her  like  a  man,  like 
the  men  at  Pickering's.  Suddenly  it  fell  rustling  to 
the  floor,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 


286  THE  ROLL-CALL 

She  murmured  indistinctly: 

"  The  last  tiling  she  did  was  for  my  pleasure  — 
sending  the  car." 

George  jumped  up,  animated  by  an  inexpressible 
tenderness  for  her.  She  had  weakened.  He  moved  to- 
wards her.  He  did  not  consider  what  he  was  doing;  he 
had  naught  to  say ;  but  his  instinctive  arms  were  about 
to  clasp  her.  He  was  unimaginably  disturbed.  She 
straightened  and  stiffened  in  a  second. 

"  But  of  course  you've  not  got  it  yet,"  she  said 
harshly,  with  apparent  irrelevance. 

Seraphine  entered  bouncingly  with  the  tea.  Lois  re- 
garded the  tray,  and  remarked  the  absence  of  the 
strainer. 

"  Et  la  passoire?  "  she  demanded  with  implacable 
sternness. 

Seraphine  gave  a  careless,  apologetic  gesture. 

vn 

It  was  late  in  September,  when  most  people  had  re- 
turned to  London  after  the  holidays.  John  Orgreave 
mounted  to  the  upper  floor  of  the  house  in  Russell 
Square  where  George  had  his  office.  Underneath 
George's  name  on  the  door  had  been  newly  painted  tlie 
word  "  Enquiries,"  and  on  another  door,  opposite,  the 
word  "Private."  John  Orgreave  knocked  with  exag- 
gerated noise  at  this  second  door  and  went  into  what 
was  now  George's  private  room. 

"  I  suppose  one  ought  to  knock,"  he  said  in  his  hearty 
voice. 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Orgreave!  "  George  exclaimed,  jumping 
up. 

"  If  the  mountain  doesn't  come  to  Mahomet,  Mahomet 
must  come  to  the  mountain,"   said  John  Orgreave. 

"  Come  in,"  said  George. 


COMPETITION  287 

He  noticed,  and  ignored,  the  touch  of  sarcasm  in 
John  Orgreave's  attitude.  He  had  noticed  a  similar 
phenomenon  in  the  attitude  of  various  people  within 
the  last  four  days,  since  architectural  circles  and  even 
the  world  in  general  had  begun  to  resound  with  the 
echoing  news  that  the  competition  for  the  northern 
town-hall  had  been  won  by  a  youth  not  twenty-three 
years  of  age.  Mr.  Enwright  had  been  almost  cross, 
asserting  that  the  victory  was  perhaps  a  fluke,  as  the 
design  of  another  competitor  was  in  reality  superior  to 
George's.  Mr.  Enwright  had  also  said,  in  his  crabbed 
way :  "  You'll  soon  cut  me  now,"  and,  George  protest- 
ing, had  gone  on :  "  Oh !  Yes  you  will.  I've  been 
through  this  sort  of  thing  before.  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  You're  no  different  from  the  rest." 
Whereupon  George,  impatient  and  genuinely  annoyed, 
had  retorted  upon  him  quite  curtly,  and  had  remem- 
bered what  many  persons  had  said  about  Mr.  En- 
wright's  wrong-headed  jealous  sensitiveness  —  animad- 
versions which  he,  as  a  worshipper  of  ]Mr.  Enwright, 
had  been  accustomed  to  rebut.  Further,  Lucas  him- 
self had  not  erred  by  the  extravagance  of  his  enthusi- 
asm for  George's  earth-shaking  success.  For  exam- 
ple, Lucas  had  said :  "  Don't  go  and  get  above  your- 
self, old  chap.  They  may  decide  not  to  build  it  after 
all.  You  never  know  with  these  corporations."  A  re- 
mark extremely  undeserved,  for  George  considered  that 
the  modesty  and  the  simplicity  of  his  own  demeanour 
under  the  stress  of  an  inordinate  triumph  were  rather 
notable.  Still,  he  had  his  dignity  to  maintain  against 
the  satiric,  and  his  position  was  such  that  he  could 
afford  to  maintain  it. 

Anyhow  he  preferred  the  sardonic  bearing  of  his 
professional  intimates  to  the  sycophancy  of  certain  ac- 
quaintances   and    of    eager    snobs    unknown    to    him. 


288  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Among  sundry  telegrams  received  was  one  composed 
regardless  of  cost  and  signed  Turnbull.  He  could  not 
discover  who  Turnbull  might  be  until  John  Orgreave 
had  reminded  him  of  the  wigged,  brown,  conversational 
gentleman  whom  he  had  met,  on  one  occasion  only,  at 
Adela's.  In  addition  to  telegrams,  he  had  had  letters, 
some  of  which  contained  requests  for  money  (demanded 
even  as  a  right  by  the  unlucky  from  the  lucky),  and  an 
assortment  of  charity  circulars,  money-lenders'  cir- 
culars, and  bucket-shop  lures.  His  mother's  great 
sprawling  letter  had  pleased  him  better  than  any  save 
one.  The  exception  was  his  stepfather's.  Edwin 
Clayhanger,  duly  passing  on  to  the  next  generation  the 
benevolent  Midland  gibe  which  he  had  inherited,  wrote: 
"  Dear  George.  It's  better  than  a  bat  in  the  eye  with 
a  burnt  stick.  Yours  affectionately,  Nunks."  As  a 
boy  George  had  at  one  period  called  his  stepfather 
*'  Nunks,"  but  he  had  not  used  the  appellation  for 
years.     He  was  touched,  now. 

The  newspapers  had  been  hot  after  him,  and  he  knew 
not  how  to  defend  himself.  His  photograph  was  im- 
plored. He  was  waylaid  by  journalists  shabby  and  by 
journalists  spruce,  and  the  resulting  interviews  made 
him  squirm.  He  became  a  man  of  mark  at  Pickering's. 
Photographers  entreated  him  to  sit  free  of  charge. 
What  irritated  him  in  the  whole  vast  affair  was  the 
continual  insistence  upon  his  lack  of  years.  Nobody 
seemed  to  be  interested  in  his  design  for  the  towTi-hall ; 
everybody  had  the  air  of  regarding  him  as  a  youthful 
prodigy,  a  performing  animal.  Personalh^  he  did  not 
consider  that  he  was  so  very  young.  (Nevertheless,  he 
did  consider  that  he  was  a  youthful  prodigy.  He  could 
recall  no  architect  in  history  who  had  done  what  he 
had  done  at  his  age.)  The  town-clerk  who  travelled 
from  the  North  to  see  him  treated  his  age  in  a  different 


COMPETITION  289 

manner,  the  patronising.  He  did  not  care  for  the 
town-clerk.  However,  the  town-clerk  was  atoned  for 
by  the  Chairman  of  the  New  Town-hall  Sub-committee, 
a  true  human  being  named  Soulter,  with  a  terrific  ac- 
cent and  a  taste  for  architecture,  pictures,  and  music. 
Mr.  Soulter,  though  at  least  forty  five,  treated  George, 
without  any  appearance  of  effort,  as  a  coeval.  George 
immediately  liked  him,  and  the  mere  existence  of  Mr. 
Soulter  had  the  effect  of  dissipating  nearly  all  George's 
horrible  qualms  and  apprehensions  about  his  own  com- 
petence to  face  the  overwhelming  job  of  erection.  Mr. 
Soulter  was  most  soothing  in  the  matter  of  specifica- 
tions and  contractors. 

"  So  you've  got  into  your  new  room,"  said  John 
Orgreave. 

Never  before  had  he  mounted  to  see  George  either  in 
the  new  room  or  in  the  old  room.  The  simple  fact  of 
the  presence  there  of  one  of  the  partners  in  the  his- 
toric firm  below  compensated  for  much  teasing  sar- 
casm and  half- veiled  jealousy.  It  was  a  sign.  It  was 
a  seal  authenticating  renown. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  only  wanted  to  give  you  a  message  from  Adela. 
The  Ingram  young  woman  is  staying  with  us " 

"Lois.'*"     The  name  shot  out  of  him  unbidden. 

"  Yes.  You're  humbly  supplicated  to  go  to  tea  to- 
day. Four  o'clock.  Thank  God  I've  not  forgotten 
it!" 

George  arrived  fifty  five  minutes  late  at  Bedford 
Park.  Throughout  the  journey  thither  he  kept  repeat- 
ing: "She  said  I  should  do  it.  And  I've  done  it! 
I've  done  it !  I've  done  it !  "  The  triumph  was  still 
so  close  behind  him  that  he  was  constantly  realising  it 
afresh,  and  saying,  wonder-struck :  "  I've  done  it.'* 
And  the  miraculous   phantasm  of  the  town-hall,   up- 


290  THE  ROLL-CALL 

lifted  in  solid  stone,  formed  itself  again  and  again  in 
his  enchanted  mind,  against  a  background  of  tremen- 
dous new  ambitions  rising  endlessly  one  behind  an- 
other like  snowy  Alps. 

"Is  this  what  you  call  four  o'clock?"  twittered 
Adela,  between  cajolery  and  protest,  somewhat  older 
and  facially  more  artificial,  but  eternally  blonde ;  still 
holding  her  fair  head  on  one  side  and  sinuously  waving 
the  palm. 

"  Sorry !  Sorry !  I  was  kept  at  the  last  moment 
by  a  journalist  johnn3\" 

"  Oh !  Of  course  !  "  said  Adela,  pooh-poohing  with 
her  lips.     "  Of  course  we  expect  that  story  nowadays  !  " 

"  Well,  it  was  a  chap  from  The  Builder,  or  I  wouldn't 
have  seen  him.  Can't  trifle  with  a  trade  paper,  you 
know." 

He  thought : 

"  She's  like  the  rest  of  them,  as  jealous  as  the  devil." 

Then  Lois  came  into  the  room,  hatted  and  gloved, 
in  half-mourning.  She  was  pale,  and  appreciably 
thinner ;  she  looked  nervous,  weak,  and  wear}'.  As  he 
shook  hands  with  her  he  felt  very  self-conscious,  as 
though  in  winning  the  competition  and  fulfilling  her 
prophecy  he  had  done  something  dubious  for  which  he 
ought  to  apologise.  This  was  exceedingly  strange,  but 
it  was  so.  She  had  been  ill  after  the  death  of  Irene 
Wheeler.  Having  left  Paris  for  London  on  the  day 
following  the  races,  he  had  written  to  her  about  noth- 
ing, in  particular,  a  letter  which  meant  everything  but 
what  it  said, —  and  had  received  an  answer  from 
Laurcncine,  who  announced  that  her  sister  was  in  bed 
and  likely  to  be  in  bed ;  and  that  father  and  mother 
wished  to  be  remembered  to  him.  Then  he  wrote  to 
Laurencine.  When  the  result  of  the  final  competition 
was  published  he  had  written  again  to  Lois.     It  seemed 


COMPETITION  291 

to  him  that  he  was  bound  to  do  so,  for  had  she  not  willed 
and  decided  his  victory?  No  reply;  but  there  had 
scarcely  been  time  for  a  reply. 

"  Did  you  get  my  letter?  "  he  smiled. 

"  This  afternoon,"  she  said  gravely.  "  It  followed 
me  here.  Now  I  have  to  go  to  Irene's  flat.  I  should 
have  been  gone  in  another  minute." 

"  She  will  go  alone,"  Adela  put  in,  anxiously. 

"  I  shall  be  back  for  dinner,"  said  Lois,  and  to  the 
stupefaction  of  George  she  moved  towards  the  door. 

But  just  as  she  opened  the  door,  she  turned  her 
head  and,  looking  at  George  with  a  frown,  murmured: 

"  You  can  come  with  me  if  you  like." 

Adela  burst  out : 

"  He  hasn't  had  any  tea  !  " 

"  I'm  not  urging  him  to  come,  my  dear.     Good-bye." 

Adela  and  George  exchanged  a  glance,  each  signalling 
to  the  other  that  perhaps  this  sick,  strange  girl  ought 
to  be  humoured.  He  abandoned  the  tea.  .  .  .  He  was 
in  the  street  with  Lois.  He  was  in  the  train  with  her. 
Her  ticket  was  in  his  pocket.  He  had  explained  to 
her  why  he  was  late,  and  she  had  smiled,  amiably  but 
enigmatically.  He  thought :  "  She's  no  right  to  go 
on  like  this.  But  what  does  it  matter?"  She  said 
nothing  about  the  competition, —  not  a  word  of  con- 
gratulation. Indeed  she  hardly  spoke  beyond  telling 
him  that  she  had  to  choose  some  object  at  the  flat. 
He  was  aware  of  the  principal  terms  of  Irene's  will, 
which  indeed  had  caused  the  last  flutter  of  excitement 
before  oblivion  so  quickly  descended  upon  the  notoriety 
of  the  social  star.  Irene's  renown  had  survived  her 
complexion  by  only  a  few  short  weeks.  The  will  was 
of  a  rather  romantic  nature.  Nobody  familiar  with 
the  intimate  circumstances  would  have  been  surprised 
if  Irene  had  divided  her  fortune  between  Lois  and  Lau- 


292  THE  ROLL-CALL 

rencine.  The  bulk  of  it,  however,  went  back  to  Indlan- 
apoHs.  The  gross  total  fell  farr  short  of  popular  esti- 
mates. Lois  and  Laurencine  received  five  thousand 
pounds  apiece,  and  in  addition  they  were  requested  to 
select  each  an  object  from  Irene's  belongings, —  Lois  out 
of  the  London  flat,  Laurencine  out  of  the  Paris  flat. 
Lois  had  come  to  London  to  choose,  and  she  was  staying 
with  Adela,  the  sole  chaperone  available.  Since  the 
death  of  Irene,  Mrs.  Ingram  had  been  excessively  strict 
in  the  matter  of  chaperones. 

They  took  a  hansom  at  Victoria.  Across  the  great 
square,  whose  leaves  were  just  yellowing,  George  saw 
the  huge  block  of  flats,  and  in  one  storey  all  the  blinds 
were  down.  Lois  marched  first  into  the  lift,  master- 
fully, as  though  she  inhabited  the  block.  She  asked 
no  one's  permission.  Characteristically  she  had  an  or- 
der from  the  solicitors,  and  the  kej'^s  of  the  flat.  She 
opened  the  front  door  of  the  flat  without  any  trouble. 
They  were  inside,  within  the  pale-sheeted  interior. 
Scarcely  a  thing  had  yd  been  moved,  for,  with  the  for- 
malities of  the  judicatures  of  France,  England,  and  the 
State  of  Indiana  to  be  complied  with,  events  marched 
slowly,  under  the  sticky  manipulation  of  three  different 
legal  firms.  Lois  and  George  walked  cautiously  across 
the  dusty,  dulled  parquets  into  the  vast  drawing-room. 
George  dofFcd  his  hat. 

"  I'd  better  draw  the  blinds  up,"  he  suggested. 

*'  No,  no !  "  she  sharply  commanded.  "  I  can  see 
quite  well.      I  don't  want  any  more  light." 

There  was  the  piano  upon  which  Laurencine  had 
played!  The  embrasure  of  the  window!  The  corner 
in  which  Irene  had  sat  spellbound  by  Jules  Defourcam- 
bault!  The  portraits  of  Irene,  at  least  one  of  which 
would  perpetuate  her  name !  The  glazed  cases  full  of 
her  collections !  .  .   .  The  chief  pieces  of  furniture  and 


COMPETITION  293 

all  the  chairs  were  draped  in  the  pale,  ghostly  sheet- 
ing. 

Suddenly  Lois,  rushing  to  the  mantelpiece,  cried: 

"  This  is  wliat  I  shall  take." 

It  was  a  large  photograph  of  Jules  Defourcambault, 
bearing  the  words :  '*  A  Miss  Irene  Wheeler.  Hom- 
mages  respectueux  de  J.D.F." 

"  You  won't  I "  he  exclaimed,  incredulous,  shocked. 
He  thought :     "  She  is  mad !  " 

"  Yes,  I  shall." 

There  were  hundreds  of  beautiful  objects  in  the 
place,  and  she  chose  a  banal  photograph  of  a  despicable 
creature  whom  she  detested. 

"Why  don't  you  take  one  of  Iter  portraits?  Or 
even  a  fan.  What  on  earth  do  you  want  with  a  thing 
like  that?"     His  voice  was  changing. 

"  I  shall  take  it  and  keep  it  for  ever.  He  was  the 
cause  of  it  all.  This  photograph  was  everything  to 
her  once." 

George  revolted  utterly,  and  said  with  cold,  harsh 
displeasure : 

"  You're  simply  being  morbid.  There's  no  sense  in 
it." 

She  dropped  down  into  a  chair,  and  the  impress  of 
her  body  dragged  the  dust-sheet  from  its  gilt  arms, 
exposing  them.  She  put  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
sobbed. 

"  You're  awfully  cruel !  "  she  murmured  thickly. 

The  sobs  continued,  shaking  her  body.  She  was 
beautifully  dressed.  Her  shoes  were  adorable,  and  the 
semi-transparent  hose  over  her  fine  ankles.  She  made 
a  most  disturbing,  an  unbearable  figure  of  compas- 
sion. She  needed  wisdom,  protection,  guidanco, 
strength.  Every  bit  of  her  seemed  to  appeal  for  these 
qualities.     But   at   the  same   time   she   dismayed.     He 


294!  THE  ROLL-CALL 

moved  nearer  to  her.  Yes,  she  had  grandeur.  All 
the  costly  and  valuable  objects  in  the  drawing-room 
she  had  rejected  in  favour  of  the  satisfaction  of  a 
morbid  and  terrible  wliim.  Who  could  have  foreseen 
it?  He  moved  still  nearer.  He  stood  over  her.  He 
seized  her  yielding  wrists.  He  lifted  her  veil.  Tears 
were  running  down  her  cheeks  from  the  ^^ellow  eyes. 
She  looked  at  him  through  her  tears. 

"  You're  frightfully  cruel,"  she  feebly  repeated. 

"And  what  if  I  am?"  he  said  solemnly.  Did  she 
really  think  him  hard,  had  she  always  thought  him 
hard,  she  the  hard  one?  How  strange!  Yet  no  doubt 
he  was  hard. 

His  paramount  idea  was : 

"  She  had  faith  in  me."  It  was  as  if  her  faith  had 
created  the  man  he  was.  She  was  passionately  ambi- 
tious :  so  was  he. 

And  when  he  kissed  her  wet  mouth,  and  stroked  with 
incredible  delicacy  those  streaming  cheeks,  he  felt  him- 
self full  of  foreboding.  But  he  was  proud  and  confi- 
dent. 

He  took  her  back  to  Bedford  Park.  She  carried 
the  photograph,  unwrapped;  but  he  ventured  no  com- 
ment.     She  went  straight  up  to  her  room. 

"  You  must  tell  Mrs.  Orgreave,"  she  said  on  the 
stairs. 

Adela  made  a  strange  remark: 

"  Oh !     But  we  always  intended  you  to  marry  Lois  !  " 


PART     TWO 
CHAPTER  X 

THE    TRIUMPH 


George  came  into  the  conjugal  bedroom.  The  hour 
was  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Lois  lay  on 
the  sofa  at  the  foot  of  the  twin  beds.  It  was  perhaps 
characteristic  of  her  that  she  sincerely  preferred  the 
sofa  to  her  bed.  Sometimes  in  the  night  when  she 
could  not  sleep  she  would  get  up  and  go  sighing  to  the 
sofa,  and,  with  nothing  but  a  slippery  eiderdown  to 
cover  her,  sleep  perfectly  till  George  arose  in  the  morn- 
ing. Quite  contentedly  conventional  in  most  matters 
of  mere  social  deportment,  she  often  resisted  purely 
physical  conventions.  A  bed  was  the  recognised  ma- 
chine for  slumber ;  hence  she  would  instinctively  choose 
another  machine.  Also,  the  sofa  was  nearer  to  the 
ground.  She  liked  to  be  near  the  ground.  She  had 
welcomed  with  ardour  the  first  beginnings  of  the  new 
fashion  which  now  regularly  permits  ladies  to  sit  on 
the  hearthrug  after  a  ceremonial  dinner  and  prop  their 
backs  with  cushions  or  mantelpieces.  Doubtless  a  trait 
of  the  "  cave-woman "  that  as  a  girl  she  had  called 
herself ! 

She  was  now  stretched  on  the  sofa  in  a  luxurious 
and  expensive  ribboned  muslin  negligee,  untidy,  pale, 
haggard,  heavy,  shapeless,  the  expectant  mother  in- 
tensely conscious  of  her  own  body  and  determined  to 

297 


298  THE  ROLL-CALL 

maintain  all  the  privileges  of  the  exacting  role  which 
nature  had  for  the  third  time  assigned  to  her.  Little 
Laurencine  aged  eight  and  little  Lois  aged  five,  in  their 
summer  white,  were  fondling  her,  tumbling  about  her, 
burying  themselves  in  her ;  she  reclined  careless,  be- 
nignant, and  acquiescent  under  their  tiny  assaults ;  it 
was  at  moments  as  though  the  three  were  one  being. 
When  their  father  appeared  in  the  doorway  she  warned 
them  in  an  apparently  awed  tone  that  father  was  there 
and  that  nursey  v»as  waiting  for  them  and  that  they 
must  run  off  quietly.  And  she  kissed  them  with  the 
enormous  kiss  of  a  giantess  suddenly  rendered  pas- 
sionate by  a  vast  uprush  of  elemental  feeling.  And 
they  ran  off,  smiling  confidently  at  their  father,  gig- 
gling, chattering  about  important  affairs  in  their  in- 
tolerable shrieking  voices.  George  could  never  under- 
stand why  Lois  should  attempt  as  she  constantly  did 
to  instil  into  them  awe  of  their  father ;  his  attitude  to 
the  children  made  it  impossible  that  she  should  suc- 
ceed. But  she  kept  on  trying.  The  cave-woman 
again!  George  would  say  to  himself:  "All  women 
are  cave-women." 

"  Have  you  come  to  pack.?  "  she  asked  with  fatigued 
fretfulness,  showing  no  sign  of  surprise  at  his  arrival. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  he  answered,  and  implied  that  in  his  over- 
charged existence  packing  would  have  to  be  done  when 
it  could,  if  at  all.  "  I  only  came  in  for  one  second 
to  see  if  I  could  root  out  that  straw  hat  I  wore  last 
year." 

"  Do  open  the  window,"  she  implored  grievously. 

"  It  is  open." 

"Both  sides.?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  open  it  more." 

"  It's  wide  open." 


THE  TRIUMPH  299 

"Both  sides?" 

"  Yes." 

"  It's  so  stuffy  in  this  room,"  she  complained,  ex- 
pelling much  breatli. 

It  was  stuffy  in  the  room.  The  room  was  too  full 
of  the  multitudinous  belongings  and  furniture  of  wife 
and  husband.  It  was  too  small  for  its  uses.  The  pair, 
unduly  thrown  together,  needed  two  rooms.  But  tlie 
house  could  not  yet  yield  them  two  rooms,  though 
from  the  outside  it  had  an  air  of  spaciousness.  The 
space  was  employed  in  complying  with  custom,  in  imi- 
tating the  disposition  of  larger  houses,  and  in  persuad- 
ing the  tenant  that  he  was  as  good  as  his  betters. 
There  was  a  basement,  because  the  house  belonged  to 
the  basement  era,  and  because  it  is  simpler  to  burrow 
than  to  erect.  On  the  ground-floor  were  the  hall,  nar- 
row, and  the  dining-room,  narrow.  To  have  placed  the 
dining-room  elsewhere  would  have  been  to  double  the 
number  of  stairs  between  it  and  the  kitchen ;  moreover 
the  situation  of  the  dining-room  in  all  such  correct 
houses  is  imnmtably  fixed  by  the  code.  Thus  the  han- 
diest room  in  the  house  was  occupied  during  four  hours 
of  the  twenty  four  and  wasted  during  the  remaining 
twenty.  Behind  the  dining-room  was  a  very  small  room 
appointed  by  the  code  to  be  George's  "  den."  It  would 
never  have  been  used  at  all  had  not  George  considered 
it  his  duty  to  use  it  occasionally  and  had  not  Lois  at 
intervals  taken  a  fancy  to  it  because  it  was  not  hers. 

The  whole  of  the  first-floor  was  occupied  by  the  land- 
ing, the  well  of  the  staircase,  and  the  drawing-room, 
which  last  was  inevitably  shaped  in  the  resemblance 
of  an  L.  The  small  back  portion  of  it  over  George's 
den  was  never  utilised  save  by  the  grand  piano  and 
rare  pianists.  Still,  the  code  demanded  that  the  draw- 
ing-room should  have  this  strange  appendage  and  that 


300  THE  ROLL-CALL 

a  grand  piano  should  reside  in  it  modestly,  apologeti- 
cally, like  a  shame  that  cannot  be  entirely  concealed. 
Nearly  every  liouse  in  Elm  Park  Road  and  every  house 
in  scores  of  miles  of  other  correct  streets  in  the  West 
End  had  a  drawing-room  shaped  in  the  semblance  of 
an  L,  and  a  grand  piano  in  the  hinterland  thereof.  The 
di'awing-room,  like  the  dining-room,  was  occupied  dur- 
ing about  four  hours  of  the  twenty  four  and  wasted 
during  the  remaining  twenty. 

The  two  main  floors  of  the  house  being  in  such  man- 
ner accounted  for,  the  family  and  its  dependants  prin- 
cipally lived  aloft  on  the  second  and  third  floors. 
Eight  souls  slept  up  there  nightly.  A  miracle  of  com- 
pression. 

George  had  had  the  house  for  ten  years ;  he  entered 
it  as  a  bridecrroom.  He  had  staved  in  it  for  seven 
years  because  the  landlord  would  onU'^  confide  it  to  iiim 
on  lease,  and  at  the  end  of  the  seven  years  he  lacked 
the  initiative  to  leave  it.  An  ugly  house,  utterly  with- 
out architectural  merit !  A  strange  house  for  an  ar- 
chitect to  inhabit !  George,  however,  had  never  liked 
it.  Before  his  marriage  he  had  discovered  a  magnifi- 
cent house  in  Fitzroy  Square,  a  domestic  masterpiece 
of  the  Adams  period,  exquisitely  designed  without  and 
within,  huge  rooms  and  many  rooms,  lovely  ceilings,  a 
forged-iron  stair-rail  out  of  Paradise ;  a  house  appre- 
ciably nearer  to  the  centre  than  the  one  in  Elm  Park 
Road,  and  with  a  lower  rental.  George  would  have 
taken  the  house,  had  not  Lois  pointed  out  to  him  its 
fatal  disadvantage,  which  had  escaped  him,  namely, 
that  people  simply  did  not  live  in  Fitzroy  Square.  In- 
stantly Lois  entered  Fitzroy  Square  George  knew  him- 
self for  a  blind  fool.  Of  course  the  house  was  impossi- 
ble. He  was  positively  ashamed  to  show  her  tlie  house. 
She   admitted    tliat    it    was    beautiful.      So    Elm    Park 


THE  TRIUMPH  301 

Road  was  finally  selected,  Elm  Park  Road  being  a 
street  where  people  could  and  in  fact  did  live.  It  was 
astounding  how  Lois,  with  her  small  and  fragmentary 
knowledge  of  London,  yet  knew,  precisely  and  infallibly, 
by  instinct,  by  the  sound  of  the  names  of  the  thorough- 
fares, by  magic  diabolical  or  celestial,  what  streets 
were  inhabitable  and  what  were  not.  And  something 
in  George  agreed  with  her. 

He   now    rummaged    among   hat-boxes    beneath    the 
beds,  pulled  one  out,  and  discovered  a  straw  hat  in  it. 
"  Will  it  do  ?  "  he  questioned  doubtfully, 
"  Let  me  look  at  it." 

He  approached  her  and  gave  her  the  hat,  which  she 
carefully  examined,  frowning. 
"  Put  it  on,"  she  said. 

He  put  it  on,  and  she  gazed  at  him  for  what  seemed 
to  him  an  unnecessarily  long  time.  His  thought  was 
that  she  liked  to  hold  him  under  her  gaze. 
"  Well?  "  he  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"  It's  quite  all  right,"  she  said.  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  it?  It  makes  you  look  about  fourteen."  He 
felt  envy  in  her  voice.  Then  she  added.  "  But  surely 
you  won't  be  able  to  wear  that  thing  to-morrow?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  I  only  want  it  for  this  afternoon. 
.  .  .  This  sun." 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried.  "  I  do  think  it's  a  shame  I  can't 
go  to  the  Opening!     It's  just  my  luck." 

He  considered  that  she  arraigned  her  luck  much  too 
often ;  he  considered  that  on  the  whole  her  luck  was 
decidedly  good.  But  he  knew  that  she  had  to  be 
humoured.     It  was  her  right  to  be  humoured. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  judicially  and  rather  shortly.  "  I'm 
sorry  too!  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 
If  you  can't  go,  you  can't.  And  you  know  it's  abso- 
lutely out  of  the  question."     As  a   fact  he  was  glad 


302  THE  ROLL-CALL 

that  her  condition  made  such  an  excursion  impossible 
for  her.  She  would  certainly  have  been  rather  a  tick- 
lish handful  for  him  at  the  Opening. 

"  But  I  should  so  have  enjoyed  it !  "  she  insisted,  with 
emphasis. 

There  it  was,  the  thirst  for  enjoyment,  pleasure! 
The  supreme  unslakable  thirst !  She  had  always  had 
it,  and  he  had  always  hardened  himself  against  it  — 
while  often  nevertheless  accepting  with  secret  pleasure 
the  satisfactions  of  her  thirst.  Thus,  for  example,  in 
the  matter  of  dancing.  She  had  shared  to  the  full  in 
the  extraordinary  craze  for  dancing  which  had  held  the 
West  End  for  several  years.  Owing  to  her  initiative 
they  had  belonged  to  two  dancing-clubs  whose  mem- 
bers met  weekly  in  the  saloons  of  the  great  hotels. 
The  majority  of  the  members  were  acutely  tedious  to 
George,  but  Lois  was  quite  uncritical,  save  on  the  main 
point ;  she  divided  the  members  into  good  dancers  and 
bad  dancers.  George  was  a  pretty  good  dancer.  He 
liked  dancing.  Membership  of  these  clubs  involved  ex- 
pense, it  interfered  with  his  sleep,  it  made  his  early 
mornings  more  like  defeats  than  triumphs,  it  prevented 
him  from  duly  reading  and  sketching.  But  he  liked 
dancing.  While  resenting  the  compulsion  to  outrage 
his  conscience,  he  enjoyed  the  sin.  What  exasperated 
him  was  Lois'  argument  that  that  kind  of  thing  "  did 
him  good "  professionally,  and  was  indeed  essential 
to  the  career  of  a  rising  or  risen  young  architect,  and 
that  also  it  was  good  for  his  health  and  his  mind.  He 
wished  that  she  would  not  so  unconvincingly  pretend 
that  self-indulgence  was  not  what  it  was.  These  pre- 
tences, however,  seemed  to  be  a  necessity  of  her  nature. 
She  reasoned  similarly  about  the  dinners  and  theatre- 
parties  which  they  gave  and  attended.  Next  to  dancing 
she   adored    dinirers    and    theatre-parties.      She    would 


THE  TRIUMPH  303 

sooner  eat  a  bad  dinner  in  company  anywhere  than  a 
good  dinner  quietly  at  home ;  she  Avould  far  sooner 
go  to  a  bad  play  than  to  none  at  all ;  she  was  in  fact 
never  bored  in  the  theatre  or  in  the  music-hall.     Never ! 

Once,  by  misfortune  —  as  George  privately  deemed, 
he  had  got  a  small  job  (erection  of  a  dwelling-house 
at  Hampstead)  through  a  dinner.  Lois  had  never  for- 
gotten it,  and  she  would  adduce  the  trifle  again  and 
again  as  evidence  of  the  sanity  of  her  ideas  about  so- 
cial life.  George  really  did  not  care  for  designing 
houses ;  the}'  were  not  worth  the  trouble ;  he  habitually 
thought  in  public  edifices  and  the  palaces  of  kings,  no- 
bles, and  plutocrats  of  taste.  Moreover  his  commis- 
sion on  the  house  would  not  have  kept  his  own  house- 
hold in  being  for  a  month, —  and  yet  the  owner,  while 
obviously  proud  to  be  the  patron  of  the  celebrated 
prodigy  George  Cannon,  had  the  air  of  doing  George 
Cannon  a  favour ! 

And  so  her  ambition,  rather  than  his,  had  driven 
them  both  ruthlessly  on.  Both  were  overpressed,  but 
George  considerably  more  than  Lois.  Lois  was  never, 
in  ordinar}'^  times,  really  tired.  Dinners,  teas,  even 
lunches,  restaurants,  theatres,  music-halls,  other  peo- 
ple's houses,  clubs,  dancing,  changing  clothes,  getting 
into  autos  and  taxis  and  getting  out  of  autos  and  taxis, 
looking  at  watches,  writing  down  engagements,  going 
to  bed  with  a  sigh  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  waking 
up  fatigued  to  the  complexities  of  the  new  day, —  she 
coped  admirably  with  it  all.  She  regarded  it  as  nat- 
ural ;  she  regarded  it  as  inevitable  and  proper.  She 
enjoyed  it.  She  wanted  it,  and  that  which  she  wanted 
she  must  have.  Yet  her  attitude  to  George  was  almost 
invariabl}^  one  of  deep  solicitude  for  him.  She  would 
look  at  him  with  eyes  troubled  and  anxious  for  his 
welfare.     When  they  were  driving  te  a  dance  which  he 


304  THE  ROLL-CALL 

had  no  desire  to  attend,  she  would  put  her  arm  in  his 
and  squeeze  his  arm  and  murmur :  "  Coco,  I  don't  like 
you  working  so  hard."  (Coco  was  her  pet  name  for 
him,  a  souvenir  of  Paris.) 

He  acknowledged  that,  having  chosen  her  role,  she 
pla^^ed  it  well.  She  made  him  comfortable.  She  was  a 
good  housekeeper,  and  a  fair  organiser  generally.  She 
knew  how  to  be  well  served.  He  thought  that  her  man- 
ner to  servants  was  often  inexcusable,  but  she  "  kept  " 
her  servants,  and  they  would  "  do  anything  "  for  her. 
Further,  except  that  she  could  not  shine  in  conversa- 
tion, she  was  a  good  hostess.  She  never  made  mistakes, 
never  became  muddled,  never  forgot.  Of  course  she 
had  friends  to  whom  he  was  indifferent  or  perhaps 
slightly  hostile,  but  she  was  entitled  to  her  friends,  as 
ho  to  his.  And  she  was  a  good  mother.  Stranger  still, 
though  she  understood  none  of  the  arts  and  had  no 
logical  taste,  she  possessed  a  gift  of  guessing  or  of 
divination  which  in  all  affairs  relating  to  the  home  was 
the  practical  equivalent  of  genuine  taste.  George 
had  first  noticed  this  faculty  in  her  when  she  put  a 
thousand  pounds  of  her  money  to  a  thousand  pounds 
of  his  stepfather's  and  they  began  to  buy  furnitiire. 
The  house  was  beautifully  furnished  and  she  had  done 
her  share.  And  in  the  alterations,  additions,  and  re- 
placements which  for  several  years  she  had  the  habit 
of  springing  upon  him,  she  rarely  offended  him.  Still, 
he  knew  indubitably  that  she  had  not  taste, —  any- 
how in  his  sense  of  the  term  —  and  would  never,  never 
acquire  it.  An  astonishing  creature !  He  had  not 
finished  being  astonished  at  her.  In  some  respects  he 
had  not  even  come  to  a  decision  about  her.  For  in- 
stance, he  suspected  that  she  had  no  notion  of  money, 
but  he  could  not  be  sure.  She  did  what  slie  liked  with 
her  own  income,  which  was  about  two  hundred  a  year ; 


THE  TRIUMPH  305 

that  is  to  say,  she  clothed  herself  out  of  it.  Her  house- 
hold accounts  were  unknown  to  him;  he  had  once  es- 
sayed to  comprehend  them,  but  had  drawn  back  af- 
frighted. 

"  Well,"  she  said  plaintively,  "  now  you're  here  I 
think  you  might  sit  a  bit  with  me.  It's  most  awfully 
lonely  for  me." 

"  I  can't  possibly,"  he  said  with  calm.  "  I  have  to 
rush  off  to  the  club  to  see  Davids  about  that  business." 

She  ignored  his  inescapable  duties !  It  was  nothing 
to  her  that  he  had  a  hundred  affairs  to  arrange  before 
his  night-journey  to  the  north.  She  wanted  him  to  sit 
with  her.  Therefore  she  thought  that  he  ought  to 
sit  with  her,  and  she  would  be  conscious  of  a  grievance 
if  he  did  not.  "  Lonely !  "  Because  the  childi'en  were 
going  out  for  an  hour  or  so !  Besides,  even  if  it  was 
lonely,  facts  were  facts,  and  destiny  was  destiny  and 
had  to  be  borne. 

"What  business.?" 

"  You  know." 

"  Oh  !     That !  .  .  .  Well,  can't  you  go  after  tea?  " 

Incurable ! 

"  Here,  lass  !  "  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  If  I  stop 
arguing  here  I  shall  miss  him." 

He  bent  down,  and  prepared  his  lips  to  kiss  her.  He 
smiled  superiorly,  indulgently.  He  was  the  stronger. 
She  defeated  him  sometimes ;  she  gravely  defeated  him 
in  the  general  arrangement  and  colour  of  their  joint 
existence ;  but  he  was  the  stronger.  She  had  known 
it  for  over  ten  years.  They  had  had  two  tremendous, 
critical,  highly  dangerous  battles.  He  had  won  them 
both.  Lois  had  wanted  to  be  married  in  Paris.  Lie 
had  been  ready  to  agree  until  suddenly  it  occurred  to 
him  that  French  legal  formalities  might  necessitate  an 
undue  disclosure  as  to  his  parentage  and  the  bigamy 


306  THE  ROLL-CALL 

of  which  his  mother  had  been  a  victim.  He  refused 
absolutely  to  be  married  in  Paris.  He  said :  "  You're 
English  and  I'm  English,  and  the  proper  place  for  us 
to  be  married  is  England."  There  were  good  counter- 
argimients,  but  he  would  not  have  them.  Curiously,  at 
this  very  period  news  came  from  his  stepfather  of  his 
father's  death  in  America.  He  kept  it  to  himself. 
Again,  on  the  night  itself  of  their  marriage,  he  had 
said  to  her :  "  Now,  gifve  me  that  revolver  you've  got." 
At  her  protesting  refusal  he  had  said :  "  My  wife  is 
not  going  about  with  any  revolver.  Not  if  I  know 
it ! "  He  was  playful  but  determined.  He  startled 
her,  for  the  altercation  lasted  two  hours.  On  the  other 
hand  he  had  never  said  a  word  about  the  photograph  of 
Jules  Defourcambault,  and  had  never  seen  it.  Some- 
where, in  some  mysterious  fastness,  the  mysterious 
woman  kept  it. 

His  lips  were  close  to  hers,  and  his  eyes  to  her  eyes. 
Most  persons  called  her  eyes  golden,  but  to  him  they 
were  just  yellow.  They  had  an  infinitesimal  cast,  to 
which  nobody  ever  referred.  They  were  voluptuous 
eves.     He  examined  her   face.      She  was   still   voung; 

•'  V  CD 

but  the  fine  impressive  imprint  of  existence  was  upon 
her  features,  and  the  insipid  freshness  had  departed. 
She  blinked,  acquiescent.  Her  eyes  changed,  melting. 
He  could  almost  see  into  her  brain  and  watch  there  the 
impulse  of  repentance  for  an  unreasonable  caprice,  and 
the  intense  resolve  to  think  in  the  future  only  of  her 
husband's  welfare.  She  was  like  that.  .  .  .  She  could 
be  an  angel.  .  .  .  He  knew  that  he  was  hai'd.  He 
guessed  that  he  might  be  inordinately  hard.  He  would 
bear  people  down.  Why  had  he  not  been  touched  by  her 
helpless  condition?  She  was  indeed  touching  as  she 
lay.  She  wanted  to  keep  him  near  her,  and  she  could 
not.     She  wanted  acutely  to  go  to  the  north,  and  she 


THE  TRIUMPH  307 

was  imprisoned.  She  would  have  to  pass  the  night 
alone,  and  the  next  night  alone.  Danger  and  great 
suffering  lay  in  front  of  her.  And  she  was  she ;  she 
was  herself  with  all  her  terrific  instincts.  She  could 
not  alter  herself.  Did  she  not  merit  compassion? 
Still,  he  must  go  to  his  club. 

He  kissed  her  tendcrl}'.  She  half  lifted  her  head,  and 
kissed  him  exactly  as  she  kissed  his  children,  like  a 
giantess,  and  as  though  she  was  the  ark  of  wisdom 
from  everlasting,  and  he  a  callow  boy  whose  safety 
depended  upon  her  sagacious,  loving  direction. 

From  the  top  of  the  flight  of  stairs  leading  from  the 
ground-floor  George,  waiting  till  it  was  over,  witnessed 
the  departure  of  his  family  for  the  afternoon  prom- 
enade. A  prodigious  affair!  The  parlourmaid  (a  de- 
lightful creature  who  was,  unfortunate^,  soon  to  make 
an  excellent  match  above  her  station)  amiably  helped 
the  nursemaid  to  get  the  perambulator  down  the  steps. 
The  parlourmaid  wore  her  immutable  uniform,  and  the 
nursemaid  wore  her  immutable  uniform.  Various  things 
had  to  be  packed  into  the  perambulator,  and  then 
little  Lois  had  to  be  packed  into  it, —  not  because  she 
could  not  walk,  but  because  it  was  not  desirable  for  her 
to  arrive  at  the  playground  tired.  Nursey's  sunshade 
was  undiscoverable,  and  little  Laurencine's  little  sun- 
shade had  to  be  retrieved  from  underneath  little  Lois  in 
the  depths  of  the  perambulator.  Nursey's  book  had 
fallen  on  the  steps.  Then  the  tiny  but  elaborate 
perambulator  of  Laurencine's  doll  had  to  go  down  the 
steps,  and  the  doll  had  to  be  therein  ensconced  under 
Laurencine's  own  direction,  and  Laurencine's  sunshade 
had  to  be  opened  and  Laurencine  had  to  prove  to  the 
maids  that  she  could  hold  the  sunshade  in  one  hand 
and  push  the  doll's  perambulator  with  the  other. 
Finally  the  procession  of  human  beings  and  vehicles 


308  THE  ROLL-CALL 

moved,  munitioned,  provisioned,  like  a  caravan  setting 
forth  into  the  desert,  the  parlourmaid  amiably  waving 
adieux. 

George  thought :  "  I  support  all  that.  It  all  de- 
pends on  me.  I  have  brought  it  all  into  existence." 
And  his  reflections  embraced  Lois  upstairs,  and  the  two 
colleagues  of  the  parlourmaid  in  the  kitchen,  and  the 
endless  apparatus  of  the  house,  and  the  people  at  his 
office  and  the  apparatus  there,  and  the  experiences  that 
awaited  him  on  the  morrow,  and  all  his  responsibilities, 
and  all  his  apprehensions  for  the  future.  And  he  was 
amazed  and  dismayed  by  the  burden  which  almost  un- 
wittingly he  bore  night  and  day.  But  he  felt  too  that 
it  was  rather  fine.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  the  midst 
of  life. 

As  he  was  cranking  his  car,  which  lie  had  left  unat- 
tended at  the  kerb,  Mrs.  Buckingham  Smith's  magnifi- 
cent car,  driven  by  her  magnificent  chauffeur,  swept  in 
silence  up  to  the  door  and  sweetly  stopped.     George's 
car  was  a  very  little  one,  and  he  was  his  own  chauffeur 
and  had  to  walk  home  from  the  garage  when  he  had 
done    with    it.     The    contemplation    of    Buck    Smith's 
career  showed  George  that  there  are  degrees  of  success. 
Buck  Smith  received  a  thousand  pounds  for  a  portrait 
(in    the   French   manner    of   painting) — and    refused 
commissions  at  that.     Buck  Smith  had  a  kind  of  pal- 
ace in   Melbury   Road.      By   the   side  of  Buck   Smith, 
George    was    a    struggling    semi-failure.      Mrs.    Buck 
Smith,  the  lady  whom  George  had  first  glimpsed  in  the 
foyer  of  a  theatre,  was  a  superb  Jewess,  whom  Buck 
had  enticed  from  the  stage.     George  did  not  like  her 
because  she  was  apt  in  ecstasy  to  froth  at  the  mouth, 
and  for  other  reasons ;  but  she  was  one  of  his  wife's 
most  intimate  friends.     Lois,  usually  taciturn,  would 
chatter  with  Adah  for  hours. 


THE  TRIUMPH  309 

"  I  thought  I'd  come  and  see  Lois,"  said  Mrs.  Buck, 
efFulgently  sinihng,  as  George  handed  her  out  of  the 
car.     "  How  is  the  dear  thing?     You  just  fljdng  off?  " 

"  You'll  do  her  all  the  good  in  the  world,"  George 
replied.  "  I  can't  stop.  I  have  to  leave  town  to-night, 
and  I'm  full  up." 

"Oh,  3^es !  The  Opening!  How  perfectly  splen- 
did !  "  Tiny  bubbles  showed  between  her  glorious  lips. 
"  What  a  shame  it  is  poor  Lois  isn't  able  to  go !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  George.  "  But  look  here !  Don't  you 
go  and  tell  her  so.     That's  quite  the  wrong  tack." 

"I  see!  I  see!"  said  Mrs.  Buck,  gazing  at  him  as 
one  who  was  capable  of  subtle  comprehensions.  "  By 
the  way,"  she  added,  as  she  turned  to  mount  the  steps. 
*'  I  ran  across  Everard  Lucas  at  the  Berkeley  to-day. 
Lunching  there.  I  said  I  was  coming  here.  He  told 
me  to  tell  you  if  I  saw  you  that  old  Mr.  Haim  or  Home 
or  some  such  name  was  dead.  He  said  you'd  be  inter- 
ested." 

"  By  Jove !  "  George  ejaculated.  "  Is  he.''  Haven't 
seen  him  for  years  and  years." 

II 

He  got  into  his  car  and  drove  off  at  speed.  Beneath 
his  offhand  words  to  Mrs.  Buckingham  Smith  he  was 
conscious  of  a  quickly  growing  tender  sympathy  for 
Marguerite  Haim.  The  hardness  in  him  was  dissolved 
almost  instantaneously.  He  saw  Marguerite,  who  had 
been  adamantine  in  the  difference  which  separated  them, 
as  the  image  of  pliancy,  sweetness,  altruism  and  devo- 
tion ;  and  he  saw  her  lips  and  the  rapt  glance  of  her 
eyes  as  beautiful  as  in  the  past.  What  a  soft,  sooth- 
ing, assuaging  contrast  to  the  difficult  Lois,  so  im- 
perious and  egoistic !  (An  unforgettable  phrase  of 
Lois'    had    inhabited    his    mind    for    over    a    decade: 


310  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Fancy  quarrelling  over  a  man  !  ")  He  had  never  met 
Marguerite  since  their  separation,  and  for  3^ears  he 
had  heard  nothing  whatever  about  her ;  he  did  not  un- 
derestimate the  ordeal  of  meeting  her  again.  Yet  he 
at  once  decided  that  he  must  meet  her  again.  He  sim- 
ply could  not  ignore  her  in  her  bereavement  and  new 
loneliness.  To  write  to  her  would  be  absurd ;  it  would 
be  a  cowardly  evasion ;  moreover  he  could  not  frame  a 
letter.  He  must  prove  to  her  and  to  himself  that  he 
had  a  sense  of  decent  kindliness  which  would  rise  above 
conventional  trifles   when   occasion   demanded. 

At  the  top  of  Elm  Park  Gardens,  instead  of  turning 
east  towards  Piccadilly  he  turned  west  in  the  direction 
of  the  workhouse  tower.  And  thus  he  exposed  the  un- 
reality of  the  grandiose  pleas  with  which  professional 
men  impose  on  their  wives  and  on  themselves.  A  few 
minutes  earlier  his  appointment  at  the  Club  (not  Pick- 
ering's, to  which,  however,  he  still  belonged,  but  a  much 
greater  institution,  the  Artists,  in  Albemarle  Street) 
had  been  an  affair  of  extreme  importance,  upon  which 
might  depend  his  future  career,  for  did  it  not  concern 
negotiations  for  a  London  factory,  which  was  to  be 
revolutionary  in  design  and  to  cost  £150,000,  and 
which,  erected,  would  form  a  permanent  advertisement 
of  the  genius  of  George  Cannon?  Now,  he  remem- 
bered that  Sir  Isaac  Davids,  the  patron  of  all  the  arts 
and  the  influencer  of  commissions,  had  said  that  he 
would  probably  but  not  certainly  be  at  the  Club  that 
afternoon,  and  he  argued  that  in  any  event  half  an 
hour  sooner  or  later  would  not  make  or  mar  the  busi- 
ness. Indeed  he  went  further  and  persuaded  himself 
that  between  that  moment  and  dinner  he  had  nothing 
to  do  except  sign  a  few  routine  letters  at  the  office. 
Still,  it  was  just  as  well  that  Lois  should  remain  in  de- 
lusion as  to  his  being  seriously  pressed  for  time. 


THE  TRIUMPH  311 

As  he  curved,  slackening  and  accelerating,  with  the 
perfect  assurance  of  long  habit,  through  the  swift,  in- 
tricate, towering  motor  traffic  of  Fulham  Road,  it  was 
inevitable  that  he  should  recall  the  da^s,  eleven  3^ears 
ago,  when  through  a  sedate  traffic  of  trotting  horses 
enlivened  with  a  few  motors  and  motor-buses,  he  used 
to  run  down  on  his  motor-cycle  to  visit  Marguerite. 
It  was  inevitable  that  he  should  think  upon  what  had 
happened  to  him  in  the  meantime.  His  body  felt,  hon- 
estly, no  older.  The  shoulders  had  broadened,  the 
moustache  was  fiercer,  there  were  semicircular  furrows 
under  the  eyes ;  but  he  was  as  slim  and  agile  as  ever, 
and  did  his  morning  exercises  as  regularly  as  he  took 
his  bath.  More,  he  was  still,  somehow,  the  youthfiil 
prodigy  who  had  won  the  biggest  competition  of  mod- 
ern years  while  almost  an  infant.  He  was  still  known 
as  such,  regarded  as  such,  greeted  as  such,  referred  to 
as  such  at  intervals  in  the  press.  His  fame  in  his  own 
world  seemed  not  to  have  deteriorated.  But  disap- 
pointment had  slowly,  imperceptibly,  eaten  into  him. 
He  was  far  off  the  sublime  heights  of  Sir  Hugh  Corver, 
though  he  met  Sir  Hugh  apparently  as  an  equal  on  the 
Council  of  the  Royal  Society  of  British  Architects. 
Work  had  not  surged  in  upon  him.  He  had  not  been 
able  to  pick  and  choose  among  commissions.  He  had 
never  won  another  competition.  Again  and  again  his 
hopes  had  been  horribly  defeated  in  these  ghastly  en- 
terprises, of  which  two  were  still  pending.  He  was  a 
man  of  one  job.  And  a  quarter  of  his  professional 
life  had  slipped  behind  him  !  His  dreams  were  changed. 
Formerly  he  had  dreamed  in  architectural  forms ;  now 
he  dreamed  in  percentages.  His  one  job  had  been 
enormous  and  lucrative;  but  he  had  lived  on  it  for  a 
decade,  and  it  was  done.  And  outside  it  he  had  earned 
probably  less  than  twelve  hundred  pounds. 


312  THE  ROLL-CALL 

And  if  the  job  had  been  enormous,  his  responsibilities 
were  likewise  enormous.  Home  expenses  with  an  in- 
creasing family ;  establishment  expenses ;  a  heavy  in- 
surance !  Slaver}'  to  habits  !  The  common  story,  with- 
out the  slightest  originality  in  it.  The  idea  recurred 
continually :  it  was  the  fault  of  Lois,  of  that  embodied 
implacable  instinct  which  Lois  was !  And  it  was  the 
fault  of  circumstance,  of  the  structure  of  society,  of 
existence  itself.  And  it  was  his  fault  too.  And  the 
whole  of  the  blame  would  be  his  if  disaster  came.  Im- 
agine those  kids  with  the  perambulator  and  the  doll's 
perambulator, —  imagine  them  in  an  earthquake !  He 
could  sec  no  future  beyond  perhaps  eight  months 
ahead.  No,  he  could  not !  Of  course  his  stepfather 
was  a  sure  resource.  But  he  could  not  conceive  him- 
self confessing  failure  to  his  stepfather  or  to  anybody 
on  earth.  Yet  if  he  did  not  very  soon  obtain  more 
work,  remunerative  and  on  a  large  scale  ...  if  he  did 
hot.  .  .  .  However,  he  would  obtain  more  work.  It 
was  impossible  that  he  should  not  obtain  it.  The  mat- 
ter with  Sir  Isaac  was  as  good  as  arranged.  And  the 
chances  of  winning  at  any  rate  one  of  the  two  com- 
petitions were  very  favourable.  .  .  .  He  dismissed 
every  apprehension.  His  health  was  too  good  to  tol- 
erate apprehensions  permanently.  And  he  had  a  super- 
stitious faith  in  his  wife's  superstitious  faith  in  him, 
and  in  his  luck.  The  dark  mood  quickly  faded.  It 
had  been  induced,  not  by  the  spectacle  of  his  wife  and 
family  and  household  seen  somehow  from  a  new  angle, 
but  by  the  recollection  of  the  past.  Though  he  often, 
went  through  dark  moods,  they  were  not  moods  of  fi- 
nancial pessimism ;  they  seemed  to  be  causeless,  inex- 
plicable, and  indescribable, —  abysses  in  wliich  cerebra- 
tion ceased. 


THE  TRIUMPH  313 


m 

She  was  just  closing  the  side  gate  leading  to  the 
studio  when  he  drove  up.  He  recognised  her  face  over 
the  top  of  the  gate.  At  the  first  glance  it  seemed  to 
be  absolutely  unchanged, —  the  same  really  beautiful 
lips,  the  same  nose,  the  same  look  in  the  eyes.  Had  a 
decade  passed  by  her  and  left  no  trace.?  He  lost  his 
nerve  for  an  instant,  and  brought  the  car  to  a  standstill 
with  less  than  his  usual  adroitness.      She  hesitated. 

"  I  was  coming  to  see  you,"  he  called  out  hastily, 
boyishly,  not  in  the  least  measuring  his  effects.  He 
jumped  from  the  car,  and  said  in  a  lower,  more  inti- 
mate tone :  *'  I've  only  this  minute  heard  about  Mr. 
Haim.  I'm  awfully  sorry.  I  thought  I'd  come  along 
at  once." 

"  How  nice  of  you ! "  she  replied  quite  simply  and 
naturally,  with  a  smile.     "  Do  come  in." 

The  tension  was  eased. 

She  pulled  at  the  gate,  which  creaked.  He  then 
saw  plainly  the  whole  of  her  figure.  She  was  dressed 
in  black,  and  wore  what  the  newspaper  advertisements 
called  a  "  matron's  coat."  The  decade  had  not  passed 
by  her  and  left  no  trace.  She  had  been  appointed  to 
a  share  in  the  mysterious  purpose.  Her  bust  too  was 
ampler ;  only  her  face,  rather  pale  like  the  face  of  Lois, 
was  unaltered  in  its  innocent  contours.  He  felt  that 
he  was  blushing.  He  had  no  instinctive  jealousy  nor 
resentment ;  it  did  not  appear  strange  to  him  that  this 
woman  in  the  matron's  coat  was  the  girl  he  had  pas- 
sionately kissed  in  that  very  house ;  and  indeed  the 
woman  was  not  the  girl, —  the  connection  between 
the  woman  and  the  girl  had  snapped.  Nevertheless  he 
was  extremely  self-conscious ;  but  not  she.  And  in  his 
astonishment  he  wondered  at  the  secretiveness  of  Lon- 


314  THE  ROLL-CALL 

don.  His  house  and  hers  were  not  more  than  half  a 
mile  apart,  and  yet  in  eleven  years  he  had  never  set 
eyes  on  her  house.  Nearly  always,  on  leaving  his  house, 
he  would  go  up  Elm  Park  Gardens  and  turn  to  the  right. 
If  he  was  not  in  the  car  he  would  never  turn  to  the  left. 
Occasionally  he  had  flown  past  the  end  of  the  Grove 
in  the  car ;  not  once,  however,  had  he  entered  the  Grove. 
He  lived  in  Chelsea  and  she  lived  in  Chelsea,  but  not 
the  same  Chelsea ;  his  was  not  the  Chelsea  of  the  studios 
and  the  King's  Road.  They  had  existed  close  together, 
side  by  side,  for  years  and  years, —  and  she  had  been 
hidden  from  him. 

As  they  walked  towards  the  studio  door  she  told  him 
that  "  they  "  had  buried  her  father  a  week  ago  and 
that  they  were  living  in  the  studio  and  had  already 
arranged  to  let  the  lower  part  of  the  house.  She  had 
the  air  of  assuming  that  he  was  aware  of  the  main 
happenings  in  her  life,  only  a  little  belated  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  her  father's  death.  She  was  quite  cheerful. 
He  pretended  to  himself  to  speculate  as  to  the  identity 
of  her  husband.  He  would  not  ask :  "  And  who  is 
your  husband?  "  All  the  time  he  knew  who  her  hus- 
band was :  it  could  be  no  other  than  one  man.  She 
opened  the  studio  door  with  a  latchkey.  He  was  right. 
At  a  table  Mr.  Prince  was  putting  sheets  of  etching- 
paper  to  soak  in  a  porcelain  batli. 

"Well!  Well!  Well!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Prince 
warmly ;  not  flustered,  not  a  bit  embarrassed,  and  not 
too  demonstrative. 

He  came  forward,  delicately  drying  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  on  a  rag,  and  shook  liands.  His  hair  was  al- 
most white,  his  tliin,  benevolent  face  amazingly  lined ; 
his  voice  had  a  constant  little  vibration.  Yet  George 
could  not  believe  that  he  was  an  old  man. 

"  He  only  heard  to-day  about  father,  and  he's  called 


THE  TRIUMPH  315 

at  once,"  said  Marguerite.     "  Isn't  it  just  like  him?  " 

The  last  phrase  surprised  and  thrilled  George.  Did 
she  mean  it?  Her  kind,  calm,  ingenuous  face  showed 
that  obviously  she  meant  it. 

"  It  is,"  said  Mr.  Prince  seriously.  "  Very  good  of 
you,  old  man." 

After  some  talk  about  Mr.  Haim,  and  about  old  times, 
and  about  changes,  during  which  Marguerite  took  off 
her  matron's  coat  and  Mr.  Prince  gently  hung  it  up 
for  her,  they  all  sat  down  near  to  one  another  and 
near  the  unlighted  stove.  The  studio  seemed  to  be  pre- 
cisely as  of  old,  except  that  it  was  very  clean.  Mar- 
guerite, in  a  high-backed  wicker-chair,  began  slowly  to 
remove  her  hat,  which  she  perched  behind  her  on  the 
chair.  Mr.  Prince  produced  a  tin  of  Gold  Flake  cig- 
arettes. 

"And  so  you're  living  in  the  studio?  "  said  George. 

"  We  have  the  two  rooms  at  the  top  of  the  house  of 
course,"  answered  Mr.  Prince,  glancing  at  the  stair- 
case. "  I  don't  know  whether  it's  quite  the  wisest 
thing,  with  all  those  stairs ;  you  see  how  we're 
fixed  — "  he  glanced  at  Marguerite  — "  but  we  had  a 
fine  chance  to  let  the  house,  and  these  days  it's  as  well 
to  be  cautious." 

Marguerite  smiled  happily  and  patted  her  husband's 
hand. 

"  Of  course  it's  the  wisest  thing,"  she  said. 

"Why!  What's  the  matter  with  these  days?" 
George  demanded.     "  How's  the  work?  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mr.  Prince,  in  a  new  tone.  "  I've  one 
or  two  things  that  might  interest  you." 

He  displayed  some  prints,  and  chatted  of  his  la- 
bours. He  was  still  etching;  he  would  die  etching. 
This  was  the  etcher  of  European  renown.  He  referred 
to  the  Vienna  acquisition  as  though  it  was  an  affair  of 


316  THE  ROLL-CALL 

a  iew  M'eeks  ago.  He  had  disposed  of  an  etching  to 
Stockholm,  and  mentioned  that  he  had  exhibited  at  the 
International  show  in  Rome.  He  said  that  his  things 
were  attracting  attention  at  a  gallery  in  Bond  Street. 
He  displayed  catalogues  and  press-cuttings. 

"These  are  jolly  fine,"  said  George  enthusiastically, 
as  he  examined  the  prints  on  his  knee. 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  them,"  said  Mr.  Prince,  pleased. 
*'  I  think  I've  improved." 

But  in  spite  of  his  European  renown,  Mr.  Prince  had 
remained  practically  unknown.  His  name  would  not 
call  forth  the  "  Oh,  yes !  "  of  recognition  from  the  ear- 
nest frequenter  of  fashionable  exhibitions  who  takes 
pride  in  his  familiarit}^  with  names.  The  etchings  of 
Prince  were  not  subscribed  for  in  advance.  He  could 
not  rank  with  the  stars  —  Cameron,  Muirhead  Bone, 
Legros,  Brangwyn.  Probably  he  could  command  not 
more  than  two  or  three  guineas  for  a  print.  He  had 
never  been  the  subject  of  a  profusely  laudator}^  illus- 
trated article  in  The  Studio.  With  his  white  hair 
he  was  what  in  the  mart  is  esteemed  a  failure.  He 
knew  it.  Withal  he  had  a  notable  self-respect  and  a 
notable  confidence.  There  was  no  timidity  in  him, 
even  if  his  cautiousness  was  excessive.  He  possessed 
sagacity  and  he  had  used  it.  He  knew  where  he  was. 
He  had  something  substantial  up  his  sleeve.  There 
was  no  wistful  appeal  in  his  eye,  as  of  a  man  Avho  hopes 
for  the  best  and  fears  the  worst.  He  could  meet  dealers 
with  a  firm  glance,  for  throughout  life  he  had  subju- 
gated his  desires  to  his  resources.  His  look  was  mod- 
est but  independent ;  and  Marguerite  had  the  same 
look. 

"  Hello !  "  cried  George.  "  I  see  you've  got  that 
here !  "  Pie  pointed  to  Celia  Agg's  portrait  of  herself 
as  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie. 


THE  TRIUMPH  317 

"  Yes,"  said  Marguerite.  "  She  Insisted  on  me  tak- 
ing it  when  she  gave  up  painting." 

"  Gave  up  painting?  " 

"  Very  good,  isn't  it.'' "  said  Mr.  Prince  gravely. 
"  Pity  she  ever  did  give  up  painting,  I  think,"  he  added 
in  a  peculiar  tone. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  George  agreed,  insincerely,  for  the 
painting  now  seemed  to  him  rather  tenth-rate.  "  But 
what  on  earth  did  she  stop  painting  for.^*  " 

Marguerite  replied,  with  reserve: 

"  Oh !  Didn't  you  know  ?  She's  quite  gone  in  for 
this  suffragette  business.  No  one  ever  sees  her  now. 
Not  even  her  people." 

"  Been  in  prison,"  said  Mr.  Prince,  sardonically  dis- 
approving. "  I  always  said  she'd  end  in  that  kind  of 
thing,  didn't  I,  Margy  ?  " 

"  You  did,  dear,"  said  Marguerite,  with  wifely  eager- 
ness. 

These  two  respected  not  only  themselves  but  each 
other.  The  ensuing  conversation  showed  that  Mr. 
Prince  was  somewhat  disgusted  with  the  mundane  move- 
ment, and  that  Marguerite  was  his  disciple.  They 
were  more  and  more  leaving  the  world  alone ;  their  self- 
sufficiency  was  increasing  with  the  narrow  regularity 
of  their  habits.  They  seldom  went  out,  and  when  they 
did  they  came  home  the  more  deeply  convinced  that  all 
was  not  well  with  the  world,  and  that  they  belonged  to 
the  small  remnant  of  the  sane  and  the  wise.  George 
was  in  two  minds  about  them,  or  rather  about  Mr. 
Prince.  He  secretly  condescended  to  him,  but  on  the 
other  hand  he  envied  him.  The  man  was  benevolent; 
he  spent  his  life  in  the  creation  of  beauty ;  and  he  was 
secure.  Surely  an  ideal  existence  !  Yes,  George  wished 
that  he  could  say  as  much  for  himself.  Marguerite, 
completely  deprived  of  ambition,  would  never  have  led 


S18  THE  ROLL-CALL 

any  man  into  insecurity.  He  had  realised  already  that 
afternoon  that  there  were  different  degrees  of  success ; 
he  now  realised  that  there  were  different  kinds  of  suc- 
cess. 

"  Well !  "     He  rose  suddenly.     "  I  must  be  off.     I'm 

very  busy." 

"  I  suppose  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Prince.  Untrue  to 
assert  that  his  glance  was  never  wistful !  It  was  ever 
so  slighth'  wistful  then. 

George  comprehended  that  Mr.  Prince  admired  him 
and  looked  up  to  him  after  all. 

"  My  town-hall  is  being  opened  to-morrow." 

*'  So  I  saw,"  said  Mr.  Prince.  "  I  congratulate 
you." 

They  knew  a  good  deal  about  him ;  where  he  lived, 
the  statistics  of  his  family,  and  so  on.  He  picked  up 
his  hat. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  appreciate  your  coming," 
said  Marguerite,  gazing  straight  into  his  eyes. 

"  Rather  !  "  said  Mr.  Prince. 

They  were  profoundly  flattered  by  the  visit  of  this 
Bird  of  Paradise.  But  they  did  not  urge  him  to  stay 
longer. 

As  he  was  leaving,  the  door  already  open,  George 
noticed  a  half-finished  book-cover  desiou  on  a  table. 

"  So  you're  still  doing  these  binding  designs  !  "  He 
stopped  to  examine. 

Husband  and  wife,  always  more  interested  in  their 
own  affairs  than  in  other  people's,  responded  willingly 
to  his  curiosity.  George  praised,  and  his  praise  was 
greatly  esteemed.  Mr.  Prince  talked  about  the  changes 
in  trade  bindings,  which  were  all  for  the  worse.  The 
bright  spot  was  that  Marguerite's  price  for  a  design 
had  risen  to  twenty  five  shillings.  This  improvement 
was  evidently  a  source  of  genuine  satisfaction  to  them. 


THE  TRIUMPH  319 

To  George  it  seemed  pathetic  that  a  rise,  after  vicissi- 
tudes, of  four  shillings  in  fourteen  years  should  be 
capable  of  causing  them  so  much  joy.  He  and  they 
lived  in  absolutely  different  worlds. 

"  This  is  the  last  I  shall  let  her  do  for  a  long  time," 
observed  Mr.  Prince.  "  I  shouldn't  have  let  her  do 
this  one,  but  the  doctor,  who's  a  friend  of  ours,  said 
there  wouldn't  be  any  harm,  and  of  course  it'-s  always 
advisable  to  break  a  connection  as  little  as  possible. 
You  never  know  .   .   ." 

George  smiled,  returning  their  flattery : 

"  You  aren't  going  to  tell  me  that  that  matters  to 
you!  " 

Mr.  Prince  fixed  George  with  his  eye. 

"  When  the  European  war  starts  in  earnest  I  think 
most  of  us  will  need  all  we've  been  able  to  get  to- 
gether," 

"  What  European  war.? "  asked  George,  with  a 
touch  of  disdain.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  this 
Sarajevo  business  will  lead  to  a  European  war!  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Prince  very  firmly.  "  Ger- 
many's diplomatists  are  much  too  clever  for  that. 
They're  clever  enough  to  find  a  better  excuse.  But 
they  will  find  it,  and  soon." 

George  saw  that  Mr.  Prince,  having  opened  up  a 
subject  which  apparently  was  dear  to  him,  had  to  be 
handled  with  discretion.  He  guessed  at  once,  from  the 
certainty  and  the  emotion  of  INIr.  Prince's  phrases, 
that  Mr.  Prince  must  have  talked  a  lot  about  a  Eu- 
ropean war.     So  he  mildly  replied: 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  Do  I  think  so  ?  My  dear  fellow,  you  have  only 
to  look  at  the  facts.  Austria  undoubtedly  annexed 
Bosnia  at  Germany's  instigation.  Look  at  what  led 
to  Algeciras.     Look  at  Agadir.     Look  at  the  increase 


320  THE  ROLL-CALL 

in  the  German  army  last  Jul}-.  And  look  at  the  spe- 
cial levy.  The  thing's  as  clear  as  day."  Mr.  Prince 
now  seemed  to  be  a  little  aijgry  with  George,  who  had 
moved  into  the  doorway. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  George,  with  the 
assurance  with  which  as  a  rule  he  announced  his 
opinions.  "  We're  Germany's  only  serious  rival.  It's 
us  she's  up  against.  She  can  onl}'  fight  us  on  the  sea. 
If  she  fought  us  now  on  the  sea  she'd  be  wiped  out. 
That's  admitted.  In  ten  j^ears,  if  she  keeps  on  build- 
ing, she  might  have  a  chance.  But  not  now !  Not 
yet !  And  she  knows  it."  George  did  not  mention  that 
he  had  borrowed  the  whole  weiffhtv  argument  from  his 
stepfather ;  but  he  spoke  with  finality,  and  was  rather 
startled  when  Mr.  Prince  blew  the  whole  weighty  argu- 
ment into  the  air  with  one  scornful,  pitying  exhala- 
tion. 

Mr.  Prince  said : 

"  Nothing  in  it !  Nothing  in  it !  It's  our  alliances 
that  will  be  the  ruin  of  us.  We  shall  be  dragged  into 
war.  If  Germany  chooses  to  fight  on  land  everybody 
will  have  to  fight  on  land.  When  she  gets  to  Paris, 
what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  We  shall  be  dragged 
into  war.  It's  the  damnable  Alliances  that  Sir  Edward 
Grey  has  let  us  in  for."  Mr.  Prince  fixed  George 
afresh.  "  That  man  ought  to  be  shot.  "N^Hiat  do  we 
want  with  Alliances.^  .  .  .  Have  you  heard  Lord 
Roberts?" 

George  admitted  weakly,  and  as  if  ashamed,  that  he 
had  not. 

"  Well,  you  should." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Marguerite  ingenuously  put  in.  "  Al- 
fred's been  very  strong  on  the  European  war  ever  since 
he  heard  Lord  Roberts  speak  at  Chelsea  Town  HalL' 


jj 


THE  TRIUMPH  321 

George  then  understood  the  situation.  Mr.  Prince, 
through  the  hazard  of  a  visit  to  Chelsea  Town  Hall, 
had  become  obsessed  by  a  single  idea,  an  idea  which 
his  natural  apprehensions  had  well  nourished.  A  com- 
mon phenomenon !  George  had  met  before  the  man 
obsessed  by  one  idea,  with  his  crude  reasoning,  his  im- 
patience, and  his  flashing  eye.  As  for  himself  he  did 
not  pretend  to  be  an  expert  in  politics,  he  had  no  time 
for  politics ;  but  he  was  interested  in  them,  and  held 
strong  views  about  them ;  and  among  his  strongest 
views  was  the  view  that  the  crudity  of  the  average  im- 
perialist was  noxious,  and  a  source  of  real  danger. 
"  That  man  ought  to  be  shot."  Imagine  such  a  re- 
mark !  He  felt  that  he  must  soothe  Mr.  Prince  as  he 
would  soothe  a  child.  And  he  did  so,  with  all  the  tact 
acquired  at  municipal  committee  meetings  in  the  north. 

His  last  impression,  on  departure,  was  that  Mr. 
Prince  was  an  excellent  and  most  lovable  fellow  despite 
his  obsession.  "  Glad  to  see  you  at  any  time,"  said 
Mr.  Prince  with  genuine  cordiality,  critically  and  some- 
what inimically  assessing  the  car,  which  he  referred 
to  as  "  she."  jMarguerite  had  remained  in  the  studio. 
She  was  wonderful.  She  admired  her  husband  too  sim- 
ply, and  she  was  too  content,  but  she  had  marvellous 
qualities  of  naturalness,  commonsense  in  demeanour, 
realism,  and  placidity.  Thanks  to  her  remarkable  in- 
stinct for  taking  things  for  granted  the  interview  had 
been  totally  immune  from  constraint.  It  was  difficult, 
and  she  had  made  it  seem  easy.  No  fuss,  no  false  senti- 
ment !  And  she  looked  very  nice,  very  interesting,  quite 
attractive,  in  her  mourning  and  in  her  expectancy.  A 
fine  couple.  Unassuming  of  course,  narrow,  opinionated 
—  (he  surmised  that  the  last  days  of  the  late  Mr. 
Haim   had    been    disciplined) — but    no    fools    either, 


322  THE  ROLL-CALL 

and  fundamentally  decent.  While  condescending  to 
them,  he  somehow  envied  them.  But  he  knew  what  the 
opinion  of  Lois  about  them  would  be ! 

rv 

After  a  period  of  shallow  sleep  he  woke  up  in  the 
morning  factitiously  refreshed  as  the  train  was  rum- 
bling slowW  over  the  high-level  bridge.  The  sun 
blinked  full  in  his  eyes  when  he  looked  out  through  the 
trellis-work  of  the  bridge.  Far  below,  the  river  was 
tinged  with  the  pale  blue  of  the  sky.  Big  ships  lay  in 
the  river  as  if  they  had  never  moved  and  never  could 
move;  a  steamer  in  process  of  painting,  with  her  sides 
lifted  above  the  water,  gleamed  in  irregular  patches  of 
brilliant  scarlet.  A  lively  tug  passed  down-stream, 
proud  of  her  early  rising;  and,  smaller  even  than  the 
tug,  a  smack,  running  close-hauled,  bowed  to  the  puffs 
of  the  light  breeze.  Farther  away  the  lofty  chimneys 
sent  their  scarves  of  smoke  into  the  air,  and  the  vast 
skeletons  of  incipient  vessels  could  be  descried  through 
webs  of  staging.  The  translucent  freshness  of  the 
calm  scene  was  miraculous ;  it  divinely  intoxicated  the 
soul,  and  left  no  squalor  and  no  ugliness  anywhere. 

Then,  as  the  line  curved,  came  the  view  of  the  city 
beneath  its  delicate  canopy  of  mist.  The  city  was 
built  on  escarpments,  on  ridges,  on  hills ;  and  sagged 
here  and  there  into  great  hollows.  The  serrated  sil- 
houette of  it  wrote  romance  upon  the  sky,  and  the  con- 
tours of  the  naked  earth  beyond  lost  themselves  grandly 
in  the  mystery  of  the  north.  The  jutting  custom- 
house was  a  fine  piece  of  architecture.  From  the  eigh- 
teen-forties  it  challenged  grimly  the  modern  architect. 
On  his  hasty  first  visit  to  the  cit}^  George  had  noticed 
little  save  that  custom-house.  He  had  seen  a  slatternly 
provincial  town,  large  and  picturesque  certainly,  but 


/ 


THE  TRIUMPH  323 

with  small  sense  of  form  or  dignity.  He  had  decided 
that  his  town-hall  would  stand  quite  unique  in  the 
town.  But  soon  the  city  had  imposed  itself  upon  him 
and  taught  him  the  rudiments  of  humility.  It  con- 
tained an  immense  quantity  of  interesting  architecture 
of  various  periods,  which  could  not  be  appreciated  at  a 
glance.  It  was  a  hoary  place.  It  went  back  to  the 
Romans  and  farther.  Its  fragmentary  walls  had  sur- 
vived through  seven  centuries,  its  cathedral  through  six, 
its  chief  churches  through  five.  It  had  the  most  per- 
fect Norman  keep  within  two  hundred  miles.  It  had 
ancient  walls,  mansions,  towers,  markets,  and  jail. 
And  to  these  the  Victorian-Edwardian  age  had  added 
museums,  law-courts,  theatres;  such  astonishing  mod- 
ernities as  swimming-baths,  power-houses,  joint-stock 
banks,  lending-libraries,  and  art-schools ;  and  whole 
monumental  streets  and  squares  from  the  designs  of  a 
native  architect  without  whose  respectable  name  no  his- 
tory of  British  architecture  could  be  called  complete. 
George's  town-hall  was  the  largest  building  in  the  city ; 
but  it  did  not  dominate  the  city  nor  dwarf  it ;  the  city 
easily  digested  it.  Arriving  in  the  city  by  train,  the 
traveller,  if  he  knew  where  to  look,  could  just  distin- 
guish a  bit  of  the  town-hall  tower,  amid  masses  of  gran- 
ite and  brick :  which  glimpse  symbolised  the  relation 
between  the  city  and  the  town-hall  and  had  its  due 
effect  on  the  Midland  conceit  of  George. 

But  what  impressed  George  more  than  the  stout 
physical  aspects  of  the  city,  was  the  sense  of  its  huge, 
adventurous,  corporate  life,  continuous  from  century 
to  century.  It  had  known  terrible  battles,  obstinate 
sieges,  famines,  cholera,  a  general  conflagration,  and, 
in  the  twentieth  century,  strikes  that  possibly  were 
worse  than  pestilence.  It  had  fiercely  survived  them 
all.     It   was   a   city   passionate   and  higlily   vitalised. 


324  THE  ROLL-CALL 

George  had  soon  begun  to  be  familiar  with  its  organic 
existence  from  the  inside.      The  amazing  delays  in  the 
construction  of  the  town-hall  were  characteristic  of  the 
city,  originating  as  they  did  not  from  sloth  or  inde- 
cision but  from  the  obduracy  of  the  human  will.     At  the 
start  a  sensational  municipal  election  had  put  the  whole 
project  on  the  shelf  for  two  years,  and  George  had  re- 
ceived a  compensatory  one  per  cent,  on  the  estimated 
cost  according  to  contract  and  had  abandoned  his  hope. 
But  the  pertinacity  of  Mr.   Soulter,  first  Councillor, 
then   Alderman,   then   Mayor,   the   true   father   of  the 
town-hall,  had  been  victorious  in  the  end.     Next,  there 
had  been  an  infinity  of  trouble  with  owners  of  adjacent 
properties  and  with  the  foundations.      Next  the  local 
contractor,  who  had  got  the  work  through  a  ruthless 
and  ingenious  conspiracy  of  associates  on  the  Council, 
had  gone  bankrupt.     Next  came  the  gigantic  building 
strike,  in  which  conflicting  volitions  fought  each  other 
for  many  months  to  the  devastation  of  an  entire  group 
of  trades.     Finally  was  the  inflexible  resolution  of  Mr. 
Soulter  that  the  town-hall  should  not  be  opened  and 
used  until  it  was  finished  in  every  part  and  every  detail 
of  furniture  and  decoration. 

George,  by  his  frequent  sojourns  in  the  city,  and  his 
official  connection  with  the  authorities,  had  several  op- 
portunities to  observe  the  cabals,  the  chicane,  and  the 
personal  animosities  and  friendships  which  functioned 
in  secret  at  the  very  heart  of  the  city's  life.  He  knew 
the  idiosyncrasies  of  councillors  and  aldermen  in  com- 
mittee ;  he  had  learnt  more  about  mankind  in  the  com- 
mittee-rooms of  the  old  town-hall  than  he  could  have 
learnt  in  ten  thousand  London  clubs.  He  could  di- 
vide the  city  council  infallibly  into  wire-pullers,  axe- 
grinders,  vain  nincompoops,  honest  mediocrities,  and  the 
handful  who  combined  honesty  with  sagacity  and  sagac- 


THE  TRIUMPH  325 

ity  with  strength.  At  beefy  luncheon-tables  and  in 
gorgeous  stuffy  bars  tapestried  with  Lincrusta-Walton, 
he  had  listened  to  the  innumerable  tales  of  the  town,  in 
which  greed,  crookedness,  ambition,  rectitude,  hatred, 
and  sexual  love  were  extraordinarily  mixed  —  the  last 
being  by  far  the  smallest  ingredient.  He  liked  the 
town ;  he  revelled  in  it.  It  seemed  to  him  splendid  in 
its  ineradicable,  ever-changing,  changeless  humanity. 
And  as  the  train  bored  its  way  through  the  granite 
bowels  of  the  city,  he  thought  pleasurably  upon  all 
these  matters.  And  with  them  in  his  mind  there  grad- 
ually mingled  the  images  of  Lois  and  Marguerite.  He 
cared  not  what  their  virtues  were  or  what  their  faults 
were.  He  enjoyed  reflecting  upon  them,  picturing 
them  with  their  contrasted  attributes,  following  them 
into  the  future  as  they  developed  blindly  under  the  un- 
perceived  sway  of  the  paramount  instincts  which  had 
impelled  and  would  always  impel  them  towards  their 
ultimate  destiny.  He  thought  upon  himself,  and  about 
himself  he  was  very  sturdily  cheerful  because  he  had 
had  a  most  satisfactory  interview  with  Sir  Isaac  on  the 
previous  afternoon. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  walked  behind  a  portmanteau- 
bearing  night-porter  into  the  wide-corridored,  sleep- 
ing hotel,  whose  dust  glittered  in  the  straight  shafts  of 
early  sunlight.  He  stopped  at  the  big  slate  under  the 
staircase  and  wrote  in  chalk  opposite  the  number  187, 
"  Not  to  be  called  till  12  o'clock,  under  pain  of  death." 
And  the  porter,  a  friend  of  some  years'  standing, 
laughed.  On  the  second  floor  that  same  porter  dropped 
the  baggage  on  the  linoleum  and  rattled  the  key  in  the 
lock  with  a  high  disregard  of  sleepers.  In  the  bed- 
room the  porter  undid  the  straps  of  the  portmanteau, 
and  then : 

"Anything  else,  sir.''" 


326  THE  ROLL-CALL 

«  That's  all,  John." 

And  as  he  turned  to  leave,  John  stopped  and  re- 
marked in  a  tone  of  concern : 

"  Sorry  to  say  Alderman  Soulter's  ill  in  bed,  sir. 
Won't  be  able  to  come  to  the  Opening.  It's  him  as  '11 
be  madder  than  anybody,  ill  or  not." 

George  was  shocked,  and  almost  frightened.  In  his 
opinion  the  true  intelligence  of  the  city  was  embodied 
in  Mr.  Soulter.  Mr.  Soulter  had  been  a  father  to 
him,  had  understood  his  aims  and  fought  for  them 
again  and  again.  Without  Mr,  Soulter  he  felt  de- 
fenceless before  the  ordeal  of  the  Opening,  and  he 
wished  that  he  might  fly  back  to  London  instantly. 
Nevertheless  the  contact  of  the  cool,  clean  sheets  was 
exquisite,  and  he  went  to  sleep  at  once,  just  as  he  was 
realising  the  extremity  of  his  fatigue. 

He  did  not  have  his  sleep  out.  Despite  the  menace 
of  death,  a  courageous  creature  knocked  heavily  at  his 
door  at  ten  o'clock  iind  entered.  It  was  a  page-boy 
with  a  telegram.  George  opened  the  envelope  resent- 
fully. 

"  No  answer." 

The  telegram  read: 

"  Am  told  we  have  got  it.     Pouting." 

Pouting  was  George's  assistant.  The  news  referred 
to  a  competition  for  an  enormous  barracks  in  India, 
—  one  of  the  two  competitions  pending.  It  had  come 
sooner  than  expected.  Was  it  true?  George  was 
aware  that  Pouting  had  useful  acquaintanceship  with 
a  clerk  in  the  India  Office. 

He  thought,  trying  not  to  believe: 

"  Of  course  Pouting  will  swallow  anything." 

But  he  made  no  attempt  to  sleep  again.  He  was  too 
elated. 


THE  TRIUMPH  327 


Through  a  strange  circumstance  George  arrived  late 
for  the  Opening  lunch  in  the  lower  hall,  but  he  was  late 
in  grave  company.  He  had  been  wandering  aimlessly 
and  quite  alone  about  the  great  interiors  of  the  town 
hall  when  he  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Phirrips,  the  con- 
tractor, with  the  bishop  and  the  most  famous  sporting 
peer  of  the  north,  a  man  who  for  some  mystical  rea- 
son was  idolised  by  the  masses  of  the  City.  Unfortu- 
nately Mr.  Phirrips  also  caught  sight  of  George. 
"  Bishop,  here  is  Mr.  Cannon,  our  architect.     He  will 

be  able  to  explain  perhaps  better "     And  in  an 

instant  Mr.  Phirrips  had  executed  one  of  those  feats 
of  prestidigitation  for  which  he  was  renowned  in  con- 
tracting circles,  left  George  with  the  bishop,  and  gone 
off  with  his  highly  prized  quarry,  the  sporting  peer. 
George,  despite  much  worldliness,  had  never  before  had 
speech  with  a  bishop.  However,  the  bishop  played  his 
part  in  a  soothingly  conventional  way,  manipulated 
his  apron  and  his  calves  with  senile  dignity,  stood  still 
and  gazed  ardently  at  ceilings  and  vistas,  and  said  at 
intervals,  explosively  and  hoarsely :  "  Ha  !  Very  in- 
teresting !  Very  interesting !  Very  fine !  Very  fine ! 
Noble ! "  He  also  put  intelligent  questions  to  the 
youthful  architect,  such  as  "  How  many  bricks  have 
been  used  in  this  building?  "  He  was  very  leisurely, 
as  though  the  whole  of  eternity  was  his. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  may  be  late  for  the  luncheon,"  George 
ventured. 

The  bishop  looked  at  him  blandly,  leaning  forward, 
and  replied,  after  holding  his  mouth  open  for  a  mo- 
ment: 

"  They  will  not  begin  without  us.  I  say  grace." 
His  antique  eye  twinkled. 


328  THE  ROLL-CALL 

After  this  George  liked  him,  and  understood  that  he 
was  really  a  bishop. 

In  the  immense  hubbub  of  the  lower  hall  the  bishop 
was  seized  upon  by  officials,  and  conducted  to  a  chair  a 
few  places  to  the  right  of  His  Worship  the  ]\Iayor. 
Thouffh  there  was  considerable  disorder  and  confusion 
(doubtless  owing  to  the  absence  of  Alderman  Soulter, 
who  had  held  all  the  strings  in  his  hand)  everybody 
agreed  that  the  luncheon  scene  in  the  lower  hall  was 
magnificent.  The  Ma3^or  in  his  high  chair  and  in  his 
heav}^  chain  and  glittering  robe,  ruled  in  the  centre  of 
the  principal  table,  from  which  lesser  tables  ran  at  right 
angles.  The  Aldermen  and  Councillors,  also  chained 
and  robed,  well  sustained  the  brilliance  of  the  Mayor, 
and  the  ceremonial  officials  of  the  city  surpassed  both 
Mayor  and  Council  in  grandeur.  Sundry  peers  and 
M.P's  and  illustrious  capitalists  enhanced  the  array  of 
renown,  and  the  bishop  was  rivalled  by  priestly  digni- 
taries scarcely  less  grandiose  than  himself.  And  then 
there  were  the  women.  The  women  had  been  let  in. 
During  ten  years  of  familiarity  with  the  city's  life 
George  had  hardly  spoken  to  a  woman,  except  Mr. 
Soulter's  Scotch  half-sister.  The  men  lived  a  life  of 
their  own,  which  often  extended  to  the  evenings,  and 
very  many  of  them  when  mentioning  women  employed  a 
peculiar  tone.  But  now  the  women  were  disclosed  in 
bulk,  and  the  display  startled  George.  He  suddenly 
saw  all  the  city  fathers  and  their  sons  in  a  new  light. 

The  bishop  had  his  appointed  chair,  with  a  fine  fem- 
inine hat  on  either  side  of  him,  but  George  could  not 
find  that  any  particular  chair  had  been  appointed  to 
himself.  Eventually  he  saw  an  empty  chair  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  row  of  men  at  the  right-hand  transverse  table, 
and  he  took  it.  He  had  expected,  as  the  sole  artistic 
creator  of  the  town-hall  whose  completion  the  gathering 


THE  TRIUMPH  329 

celebrated,  to  be  the  object  of  a  great  deal  of  curiosity 
at  the  luncheon.  But  in  this  expectation  he  was  de- 
ceived. If  any  curiosity  concerning  him  existed,  it 
was  admirably  concealed.  The  authorities,  however, 
had  not  entirely  forgotten  him,  for  the  Town  Clerk  that 
morning  had  told  him  that  he  must  reply  to  the  toast 
of  his  health.  He  had  protested  against  the  shortness 
of  the  notice,  whereupon  the  Town  Clerk  had  said 
casually  that  a  few  words  would  suffice, —  anything, 
in  fact,  and  had  hastened  off.  George  was  now  getting 
nervous.  He  was  afraid  of  hearing  his  own  voice  in 
that  long  low  interior,  which  he  had  made.  He  had  no 
desire  to  eat.  He  felt  tired.  Still,  his  case  was  less 
acute  than  it  would  have  been  had  the  august  person- 
age originally  hoped  for  attended  the  luncheon.  The 
august  personage  had  not  attended  on  account  of  an 
objection,  apropos  of  an  extreme  passage  in  an  elec- 
tion-campaign speech,  to  the  occupant  of  the  mayoral 
chair  (who  had  thus  failed  to  be  transformed  into  a 
Lord  Mayor).  The  whole  city  had  then,  though  the 
mayor  was  not  over-popular,  rallied  to  its  representa- 
tive, and  the  Council  had  determined  that  the  inaugura- 
tion should  be  a  purely  municipal  affair,  a  family  party, 
proving  to  the  august  and  to  the  world  that  the  city 
was  self-sufficing.     The  episode  was  characteristic. 

George  heard  a  concert  of  laughter,  which  echoed 
across  the  room.  At  the  end  of  the  main  table  Mr. 
Phirrips  had  become  a  centre  of  gaiety.  Mr.  Phirrips, 
whom  George  and  the  clerk-of-the-works  had  had  severe 
and  constant  difficulty  in  keeping  reasonably  near  the 
narrow  path  of  rectitude,  was  a  merry,  sharp,  smart, 
middle-aged  man  with  a  skin  that  always  looked  as  if 
he  had  just  made  use  of  an  irritant  soap.  He  was  one 
of  the  largest  contractors  in  England,  and  his  name 
on  the  boarding  of  any  building  in  course  of  erection 


330  THE  ROLL-CALL 

seemed  to  give  distinction  to  that  building.  He  was 
very  rich,  and  popular  in  municipal  circles  and  espe- 
cially with  certain  councillors,  including  a  labour 
councillor.  George  wondered  whether  Mr.  Phirrips 
would  make  a  speech.  No  toast-list  was  visible  in 
George's  vicinity. 

To  George  the  meal  seemed  to  pass  with  astounding 
celerity.  The  old  bishop  said  grace  after  meat  in  six 
words.  The  Toast-master  bawled  for  silence.  The 
health  of  all  classes  of  society  who  could  rely  upon  good 
doctors  was  proposed  and  heartily  drunk  —  princes, 
prelates,  legislators,  warriors,  judges  —  but  the  cata- 
logue was  cut  short  before  any  eccentric  person  could 
propose  the  health  of  the  one-roomed  poor,  of  whom  the 
city  was  excessively  prolific.  And  then  the  Mayor  ad- 
dressed himself  to  the  great  business  of  the  town-hall, 
George  listened  with  throat  dry ;  by  way  of  precaution 
he  had  drunk  nothing  during  the  meal ;  and  at  each  toast 
he  had  merely  raised  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  infinitesi- 
mallv  sipped;  the  coffee  was  bad  and  cold  and  left  a 
taste  in  his  mouth ;  but  everything  that  he  had  eaten 
left  a  taste  in  his  mouth.  The  Mayor  began :  "  My 
lords,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  During  the  building  of 
this  —  er  —  er  —  structure.  .  .  ."  All  his  speech  was 
in  that  manner  and  that  key.  Nevertheless  he  was  an 
able  and  strong  individual,  and  as  an  old  Trades  Union 
leader  could  be  fiercely  eloquent  with  workingmen.  He 
mentioned  Alderman  Soulter,  and  there  was  a  tremen- 
dous cheer.  He  did  not  mention  Alderman  Soulter 
again ;  a  feud  burned  between  these  two.  After  Alder- 
man Soulter  he  mentioned  finance.  He  said  that  that 
was  not  the  time  to  refer  to  finance,  and  then  spoke  of 
nothing  else  but  finance  throughout  the  remainder  of 
bis  speech,  until  he  came  to  the  peroration, — "  success 
and  prosperity  to  our  new  town-hall,  the  grandest  civic 


THE  TRIUMPH  331 

monument  which  any  city  has  erected  to  itself  in  this 
country  within  Hving  memory,  aye,  and  beyond."  The 
frantic  applause  atoned  for  the  lack  of  attention  and 
the  semi-audible  chattering  which  had  marred  the  latter 
part  of  the  interminable  and  sagacious  harangue. 
George  thought :  "  Pardon  me !  The  city  has  not 
erected  this  civic  monument.  I  have  erected  it."  And 
he  thought  upon  all  the  labour  he  had  put  into  it,  and 
all  the  beauty  and  magnificence  which  he  had  evolved. 
Alderman  Soulter  should  have  replied  on  behalf  of  the 
town-haU,  and  the  alderman  who  took  his  place  apolo- 
gised for  his  inability  to  fill  the  role  and  said  little. 

Then  the  Toast-master  bawled  incomprehensibly  for 
the  twentieth  time,  and  a  councillor  arose  and  in  timid 
tones  said: 

"  I  rise  to  propose  the  toast  of  the  architect  and 
contractor." 

George  was  so  astounded  that  he  caught  scarcely 
anything  of  the  speech.  It  was  incredible  to  him  that 
he,  the  creative  artist,  who  was  solely  responsible  for 
the  architecture  and  decoration  of  the  monument,  in 
whose  unique  mind  it  had  existed  long  before  the  second 
brick  had  been  placed  upon  the  first,  should  be  bracketed 
in  a  toast  with  the  tradesman  and  middleman  who  had 
merely  supervised  the  execution  of  his  scheme  accord- 
ing to  rules  of  thumb.  He  flushed.  He  wanted  to 
walk  out.  But  nobody  else  appeared  to  be  disturbed. 
George,  who  had  never  before  attended  an  inauguration, 
was  simply  not  aware  that  the  toast  "  architect  and 
contractor  "  was  the  classic  British  toast,  invariably 
drunk  on  such  occasions  and  never  criticised.  He 
thought :  "  What  a  country  !  "  and  remembered  hun- 
dreds of  Mr.  Enwright's  remarks.  .  .  .  Phrases  of  the 
orator  wandered  into  his  ear.  "  The  competition  sys- 
tem. .  .  .  We  went  to  Sir  Hugh  Corver,  the  head  of 


332  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  architectural  profession  [loud  applause]  and  Sir 
Hugh  Corver  assured  us  that  the  design  of  Mr  George 
Cannon  was  the  best  [Hear,  hear!  Hear,  hear!].  .  .  . 
Mr.  Phirrip,  head  of  the  famous  firm  of  Phirrips  Limited 
[loud  applause]  .  .  .  fortunate  after  our  misfortune 
with  the  original  contractor  to  obtain  such  a  leading 
hght.  .  .  .  Cannot  sufficiently^  thank  these  two  —  er  — 
officials  for  the  intellect,  energy  and  patience  they  have 
put  into  their  work." 

As  the  speech  was  concluding,  a  tactless  man  sitting 
next  to  George,  with  whom  he  had  progressed  very 
slowly  in  acquaintance  during  the  lunch,  leaned  to- 
wards him  and  murmured  in  a  confidential  tone: 

"  Did  I  tell  you  both  naval  yards  up  here  have  just 
had  orders  to  work  day  and  night.''     Yes.     Fact." 

George's  mind  ran  back  to  Mr.  Prince  and  Mr. 
Prince's  prophecy  of  war.  Was  there  something  in  it, 
after  all.?  The  thought  passed  in  an  instant,  but  the 
last  vestiges  of  his  equanimity  had  gone.  Hearing  his 
name  he  jumped  up  in  a  mist  inhabited  by  inimical 
phantoms,  and,  amid  feeble  acclamations  here  and  there, 
said  he  knew  not  what  in  a  voice  now  absurdly  loud 
and  now  absurdly  soft,  and  sat  down  amid  more  feeble 
acclamations,  feehng  an  angry  fool.  It  was  the  most 
hideous  experience.  He  lit  a  cigarette,  his  first  that 
day. 

When  Mr.  Phirrips  rose,  the  warm  clapping  was  ex- 
pectant of  good  things. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  boy  I  remember  my  father  tell- 
ing me  that  this  town-hall  had  been  started.  I  never 
expected  to  live  to  see  it  finished " 

Delighted  guflPaws,  uproarious  laughter,  explosions  of 
mirth,  interrupted  this  witty  reference  to  the  delays  in 
construction.     The  speaker  smiled  at  ease.     His  eyes 


THE  TRIUMPH  333 

glinted.     He  knew  his  audience,  held  it  consummately, 
and  went  on. 

In  the  afternoon  there  was  a  Conversazione,  or  re- 
ception, for  the  lunchers  and  also  for  the  outer  fringe 
of  the  city's  solid  respectability.  The  whole  of  the 
town-hall  from  basement  to  roof  was  open  to  view,  and 
citizens  of  all  ages  wandered  in  it  everywhere,  admir- 
ing it,  quizzing  it,  and  feeling  proudly  that  it  was 
theirs.  George  too  wandered  about,  feeling  that  it 
•was  his.  He  was  slowly  recovering  from  the  humilia- 
tion of  the  lunch.  jNIuch  of  the  building  pleased  him 
greatly ;  at  the  excellence  of  some  effects  and  details 
he  marvelled;  the  entry  into  the  large  hall  from  the 
grand  staircase  was  dramatic,  just  as  he  had  intended 
it  should  be:  the  organ  was  being  played,  and  word 
went  round  that  the  acoustic  (or  acoostic)  properties 
of  the  auditorium  were  perfect  and  unrivalled  by  any 
auditorium  in  the  kingdom.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
crudity  of  certain  other  effects  and  details  irritated 
the  creator ;  helping  him  to  perceive  how  much  he  had 
learnt  in  ten  years ;  in  ten  years,  for  example,  his  ideas 
about  mouldings  had  been  quite  transformed.  What 
chiefly  satisfied  him  was  the  demonstration,  everywhere, 
that  he  had  mastered  his  deep  natural  impatience  of 
minutiae  —  that  instinct  which  often  so  violently  re- 
sented the  exacting  irksomeness  of  trifles  in  the  reahsa- 
tion  of  a  splendid  idea.  At  intervals  he  met  an  ac- 
quaintance and  talked,  but  nobody  at  all  appeared  to 
comprehend  that  he  alone  was  the  creator  of  the  mighty 
pile,  and  that  all  the  individuals  present  might  be  di- 
vided artistically  into  two  classes :  himself  in  one  class, 
the  entire  remainder  in  the  other.  And  nobody  ap- 
peared to  be  inconvenienced  by  the  sense  of  the  height 
of  his  achievement  or  of  the  splendour  of  his  triumph 


334  THE  ROLL-CALL 

that  day.  It  is  true  that  the  north  hates  to  seem  im- 
pressed, and  will  descend  to  any  duplicity  in  order  not 
to  seem  impressed. 

The  To\vn  Clerk's  clerk  came  importantly  up  to  him 
and  asked: 

"  How  many  reserved  seats  would  you  like  for  the 
concert?" 

A  grand  ballad  concert,  at  which  the  most  senti- 
mental of  contraltos,  helped  by  other  first-class  throats, 
was  to  minister  wholesale  to  the  insatiable  secret  senti- 
mentality of  the  north,  had  been  arranged  for  the 
evening. 

"  One  will  be  enough,"  said  George. 

"  Are  you  alone?  "  asked  the  Town  Clerk's  clerk. 

George  took  the  ticket.  None  of  the  city  fathers 
or  their  fashionable  sons  had  even  invited  him  to  dinner. 
He  went  forth  and  had  tea  alone,  while  reading  in  an 
evening  paper  about  the  Austro-Serbian  situation,  in 
the  tea-rooms  attached  to  a  cinema-palace.  The  gor- 
geous rooms,  throbbing  to  two-steps  and  fox-trots, 
were  crammed  with  customers ;  but  the  waitresses  be- 
haved competently.  Thence  he  drove  out  in  a  taxi  to 
the  residence  of  Alderman  Soultcr.  He  could  see 
neither  the  Alderman  nor  Miss  Soulter ;  he  learnt  that 
the  condition  of  the  patient  was  reassuring  and  that 
the  patient  had  a  very  good  constitution.  Back  at  the 
hotel,  he  had  to  wait  for  dinner.  In  due  course  he  ate 
the  customary  desolating  table-d'hote  dinner  which  is 
served  simultaneously  in  the  vast  odorous  dining-rooms, 
all  furnished  alike,  of  scores  and  scores  of  grand  hotels 
throughout  the  provinces.  Having  filled  his  cigar-case, 
he  set  out  once  more,  into  the  beautiful  summer  even- 
ing. In  broad  Side  Gate  were  massed  the  chief  resorts 
of  amusement.  The  facade  of  the  Empire  music-hall 
glowed  with  great  rubies  and  emeralds  and  amethysts 


THE  TRIUMPH  335 

and  topazes  in  the  fading  light.  Its  lure  was  more 
powerful  than  the  lure  of  the  ballad  concert.  Ignor- 
ing his  quasi-official  duty  to  the  greatest  of  sentimental 
contraltos,  he  pushed  into  the  splendid  foyer  of  the 
Empire.  One  solitary  stall,  half-a-crown,  was  left  for 
the  second  house ;  he  bought  it,  eager  in  transgression ; 
he  felt  that  the  ballad  concert  would  have  sent  him 
mad. 

The  auditorium  of  the  Empire  was  far  larger  than 
the  auditorium  of  the  town-hall;  and  it  was  covered 
with  gold.  The  curving  rows  of  plush-covered  easy- 
chairs  extended  backwards  until  faces  became  indis- 
tinguishable points  in  the  smoke-misted  gloom.  Every 
seat  was  occupied ;  the  ballad  concert  had  made  no  im- 
pression upon  the  music-hall.  The  same  stars  that  he 
could  see  in  London  appeared  on  the  gigantic  stage  in 
the  same  songs  and  monologues ;  and  as  in  London  the 
indispensable  revue  was  performed,  but  with  a  grosser 
and  more  direct  licentiousness  than  the  West  End  would 
have  permitted.  And  all  proceeded  with  inexorable 
exactitude  according  to  time-table.  And  in  scores  and 
scores  of  similar  Empires,  Hippodromes,  Alhambras, 
and  Pavilions  throughout  the  provinces,  similar  enter- 
tainments were  proceeding  with  the  same  exactitude :  an- 
other example  of  the  huge  standardisation  of  life. 
George  laughed  with  the  best  at  the  inventive  drollery 
of  the  knock-about  comedians  —  Britain's  sole  gen- 
uine contribution  to  the  art  of  the  modern  stage.  But 
there  were  items  in  the  Empire  programme  that  were  as 
awful  in  their  tedium  as  anything  at  the  ballad  con- 
cert could  be,  moments  when  George  could  not  bear  to 
look  over  the  footlights.  And  these  items  were  ap- 
plauded in  ecstasy  by  the  enchanted  audience.  He 
thought  of  the  stupidity,  the  insensibilit}^,  the  sheer 
ignorance  of  the  exalted  lunchers;  and  he  compared 


336  THE  ROLL-CALL 

them  with  these  qualities  in  the  Empire  audience,  and 
asked  himself  sardonically  whether  all  artists  had  lived 
in  vain.  But  the  atmosphere  of  the  Empire  was  com- 
fortable, reassuring,  inspiring.  The  men  had  their 
pipes,  cigarettes  and  women ;  the  women  had  the  men, 
the  luxury,  the  glitter,  the  publicity.  They  had  at- 
tained, they  were  happy.  The  frightful  curse  of  the 
provinces,  ennui,  had  been  conjured  away  by  the  benef- 
icent and  sublime  institution  invented,  organised,  and 
controlled  by  throe  great  trusts. 

George  stayed  till  the  end  of  the  show.  The  empty- 
ing of  the  theatre  was  like  a  battle,  like  the  flight  of 
millions  from  a  conflagration.  All  humanity  seemed  to 
be  crowded  into  the  corridors  and  staircases.  Jostled 
and  disordered,  he  emerged  into  the  broad  street,  along 
which  huge  lighted  trams  slowly  thundered.  He  walked 
a  little,  starting  a  fresh  cigar.  The  multitude  had 
resumed  its  calm.  A  few  noisy  men  laughed  and  swore 
obscene  oaths ;  and  girls,  cither  in  couples  or  with  men, 
trudged  demure  and  unshocked  past  the  roysterers,  as 
though  they  had  neither  ears  to  hear  nor  eyes  to  see. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  processions  were  dissipated,  dis- 
solved into  the  vastness  of  the  city,  and  the  pavements 
nearly  deserted.  George  strolled  on  towards  the 
Square.  The  town-hall  stood  up  against  the  velvet 
pallor  of  the  starry  summer  night,  massive,  lovely,  su- 
preme, deserted.  He  had  conceived  it  in  an  office  in 
Russell  Square,  when  he  was  a  boy.  And  there  it  was, 
the  mightiest  monument  of  the  city  which  had  endured 
through  centuries  of  astounding  corporate  adventure. 
He  was  overwhelmed,  and  he  was  inexpressibly  trium- 
phant. Throughout  the  day  he  had  had  no  recogni- 
tion ;  and  as  regards  the  future,  few,  while  ignorantly 
admiring  the  monument,  would  give  a  thought  to  the 
artist.      Books  were  eternally  signed,  and  pictures  and 


THE  TRIUMPH  337 

sculpture.  But  the  architect  was  forgotten.  What 
did  it  matter?  If  the  creators  of  Gothic  cathedrals 
had  to  accept  oblivion,  he  might.  The  tower  should 
be  his  signature.  And  no  artist  could  imprint  his  in- 
fluence so  powerfully  and  so  mysteriously  upon  the  un- 
conscious city  as  he  was  doing.  And  the  planet  was 
whirling  the  whole  city  round  like  an  atom  in  the  icy 
spaces  between  the  stars.  And  perhaps  Lois  was  lying 
expectant,  discontented,  upon  the  sofa,  thinking  re- 
belliously.  He  was  filled  with  the  realisation  of  uni- 
versality. 

At  the  hotel  another  telegram  awaited  him. 

"  Good  old  Ponting !  "  he  exclaimed,  after  reading  it. 

The  message  ran : 

"  We  have  won  it.     Ponting." 

He  said: 

"Why  'we,'  Ponting.?  You  didn't  win  it.  I  won 
it." 

He  said : 

"  Sir  Hugh  Corver  is  not  going  to  be  the  head  of  the 
architectural  profession.  I  am."  He  felt  the  assur- 
ance of  that  in  his  bones. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    ROLL-CALIi 


The  telephone  rang  in  the  principal's  room  of 
George's  office  in  Museum  Street.  He  raised  his  head 
from  the  drawing-board  with  the  false  gesture  of  fa- 
tigued impatience  which  as  a  business  man  he  had  long 
since  acquired,  and  took  the  instrument.  As  a  fact  he 
was  not  really  busy  ;  he  was  only  pretending  to  be  busy ; 
and  he  rather  enjoyed  the  summons  of  the  telephone, 
with  its  eternal  promise  of  some  romantic  new  turn  of 
existence ;  nevertheless,  though  he  was  quite  alone,  he 
had  to  affect  that  the  telephone  was  his  bane. 

"  Can  Sir  Isaac  Davids  speak  to  you,  sir,  from  the 
Artists' Club?" 

"  Put  him  on." 

Immediately  came  the  thick,  rich  voice  of  Sir  Isaac, 
with  its  implications  of  cynicism  and  triumphant  dis- 
dain, attenuated  and  weakened  in  the  telephone,  sug- 
gesting an  object  seen  through  the  wrong  end  of  a 
telescope. 

"  Is  that  you,  Cannon?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  George  shortly.  Without  yet  knowing 
it,  he  had  already  begun  to  hate  Sir  Isaac.  His  criti- 
cism of  Sir  Isaac  was  that  the  man  was  too  damnably 
sure  of  himself.  And  not  all  Sir  Isaac's  obvious  power, 
and  influence,  and  vast  potential  usefulness  to  a  young 
architect,  could  prevent  George  from  occasionally,  as  he 

put  it,  "  standing  up  to  the  fellow." 

338 


THE  ROLL-CALL  339 

"  Well,  you'd  better  come  along  here,  if  you  can.  I 
want  to  sec  you,"  said  the  unrufHed  voice  of  Sir  Isaac. 

"Now?" 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right." 

As  George  replaced  the  instrument,  he  murmured : 

"  I  know  what  that  means.  It's  all  off."  And  after 
a  moment :     "  I  knew  jolly  well  it  would  be." 

He  glanced  round  the  very  orderly  room,  to  which  by 
judicious  furnishing  he  had  given  a  severe  distinction  at 
no  great  cost.  On  the  walls  were  a  few  interesting 
things,  including  a  couple  of  his  own  perspectives.  A 
neo-impressionist  oil-sketch  over  the  mantelpiece,  with 
blue  trees  and  red  fields  and  a  girl  whose  face  was  a 
featureless  blob,  imperiously  monopolised  the  attention 
of  the  beholder,  warning  him,  whoever  he  might  be,  that 
the  inescapable  revolutionary  future  was  now  at  hand. 
The  room  and  everything  in  it,  that  entity  upon  which 
George  had  spent  so  much  trouble,  and  of  which  he  had 
been  so  proud,  seemed  futile,  pointless,  utterly  un- 
profitable. 

The  winning  of  the  Indian  limited  competition,  cou- 
pled with  the  firm  rumour  that  Sir  Isaac  Davids  had 
singled  him  out  for  patronage,  had  brilliantly  renewed 
George's  reputation  and  the  jealousy  which  proved  its 
reality.  The  professional  journals  had  been  full  of 
him,  and  everybody  assured  everybody  that  his  ultimate, 
complete,  permanent  success  had  never  been  in  doubt. 
The  fact  that  the  barracks  would  be  the  largest  bar- 
racks in  India  indicated  to  the  superstitious,  and  to 
George  himself,  that  destiny  intended  him  always  to 
break  records.  After  the  largest  town-hall,  the  largest 
barracks ;  and  it  was  said  that  Sir  Isaac's  factory  was 
to  be  the  largest  factory !  But  the  outbreak  of  war 
had  overthrown  all  reputations,  save  the  military  and 


340  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  political.     Every  value  was  changed  according  to  a 
fresh  standard,  as  in  a  shipwreck.     For  a  week  George 
had  felt  an  actual  physical  weight  in  the  stomach.     This 
weight  was  his  own  selfish  woe,  but  it  was  also  the  woe 
of  the  entire   friendly  world.     Every   architect  knew 
and  said  that  the  profession  of  architecture  would  be 
ruined  for  years.     Then  the  India  Office  woke  George 
up.     The  attitude  of  the  India  Office  was  overbearing. 
It  implied  that  it  had  been  marvellously  original  and 
virtuous  in  submitting  the  affair  of  its  barracks  to  even 
a  limited  competition,  when  it  might  just  as  easily  have 
awarded  the  job  to  any  architect  whom  it  happened  to 
know,  or  whom  its  wife,  cousin,  or  aunt  happened  to 
know,  or  whose  wife,  cousin,  or  aunt  happened  to  know 
the  India  Office, —  and  further,  that  George  ought  there- 
fore to  be  deeply  grateful.     It  said  that  in  view  of  the 
war  the  barracks  must  be  erected  with  the  utmost  pos- 
sible, or  rather  with  quite  impossible,  despatch,  and  that 
George  would  probably  have  to  go  to  India  at  once. 
Simultaneously,    it    daily    modified    George's    accepted 
plans  for  the  structure,  exactly  as  though  it  was  a  pro- 
fessional architect  and  George  an  amateur,  and  it  in- 
volved him  in  a  seemly  but  intense  altercation  between 
itself  and  the  subordinate  bureaucracy  of  a  Presidency. 
It  kept  George  employed.     In  due  course  people  dis- 
covered that  business  must  proceed  as  usual,  and  even 
the  architectural  profession,  despite  its  traditional  pes- 
simism, had  hopes  of  municipalities  and  other   bodies 
which  were  to  inaugurate  public  works  in  order  to  dimin- 
ish unemployment. 

Nevertheless  George  had  extreme  difficulty  in  apply- 
ing himself  efficiently  to  urgent  tasks.  He  kept  think- 
ing: "  It's  come !  It's  come !  "  He  could  not  get  over 
the  fact  that  it  had  come, —  the  European  war  which 
had  obsessed  men's  minds  for  so  many  years  past.      He 


THE  ROLL-CALL  341 

saved  the  face  of  his  own  theory  as  to  the  immediate 
impossibility  of  a  great  war,  by  positively  asserting  that 
Germany  would  never  have  fought  had  she  foreseen  that 
Britain  would  fight.  He  prophesied  (to  himself)  Ger- 
many's victory,  German  domination  of  Europe,  and,  as 
the  grand  central  phenomenon,  mysterious  ruin  for 
George  Edwin  Cannon.  But  the  next  instant  he  would 
be  convinced  that  Germany  would  be  smashed,  and 
quicklj'.  Germany,  he  reckoned  superiorh-,  in  "  taking 
on  England "  had  "  bitten  off  more  than  she  could 
chew." 

He  knew  almost  naught  of  the  progress  of  the  fight- 
ing. He  had  obtained  an  expensive  map  of  Western 
Europe  and  some  flagged  pins,  and  had  hung  the  map 
up  in  his  hall  and  had  stuck  the  pins  into  it  with  exacti- 
tude. He  had  moved  the  pins  daily  until  little  Lauren- 
cine  one  morning,  aloft  on  a  chair,  decided  to  change 
all  the  positions  of  the  opposing  armies.  Laurencine 
established  German  Army  corps  in  Marseilles,  the 
Knockmillydown  Mountains,  and  Torquay,  while  send- 
ing the  French  to  Elsinore  and  Aberdeen.  There  was 
trouble  in  the  house.  Laurencine  suffered,  and  was 
given  to  understand  that  war  was  a  serious  matter. 
Still,  George  soon  afterwards  had  ceased  to  manipulate 
the  pins ;  they  seemed  to  be  incapable  of  arousing  his 
imagination ;  he  could  not  be  bothered  with  them ;  he 
could  not  make  the  effort  necessary  to  acquire  a  scien- 
tific conception  of  the  western  campaign, —  not  to  men- 
tion the  eastern,  as  to  which  his  ignorance  was  nearly 
perfect. 

Yet  he  read  much  about  the  war.  Some  of  the  re- 
counted episodes  deeply  and  ineffaceably  impressed  him. 
For  example,  an  American  newspaper  correspondent 
had  written  a  dramatic  description  of  the  German  Army 
marching,   marching   steadily    along   a   great    Belgian 


342  THE  ROLL-CALL 

high  road  —  a  procession  without  beginning  and  with- 
out end  —  and  of  the  procession  being  halted  for  his 
benefit,  and  of  a  German  officer  therein  who  struck  a 
soldier  several  times  in  the  face  angrily  with  his  cane, 
while  the  man  stood  stiffly  at  attention.  George  had 
an  ardent  desire  to  spend  a  few  minutes  alone  with  that 
officer ;  he  could  not  get  the  soldier's  bruised  cheek  out 
of  his  memory. 

Again,  he  was  moved  and  even  dismayed  by  the  re- 
citals of  the  entry  of  the  German  army  into  Brussels 
and  of  its  breaking  into  the  goose-step  as  it  reached 
the  Grande  Place,  though  he  regarded  the  goose-step 
as  too  ridiculous  and  contemptible  for  words.  Then 
the  French  defence  of  Dinant,  and  the  Belgian  defence 
of  Liege,  failure  as  it  was,  and  the  obstinate  resistance 
at  Namur,  inspired  him;  and  the  engagements  between 
Belgians  and  Uhlans,  in  which  the  clumsy  Uhlans  were 
always  scattered,  destroyed  for  him  the  dread  signifi- 
cance of  the  term  "  Uhlan." 

He  simply  did  not  comprehend  that  all  these  events 
were  negligible  trifles,  that  no  American  correspondent 
had  seen  the  hundredth  part  of  the  enemj^  forces,  that 
the  troops  which  marched  through  Brussels  were  a  tiny, 
theatrical  side-show,  a  circus,  that  the  attack  on 
Liege  had  been  mismanaged,  that  the  great  battle  at 
Dinant  was  a  mere  skirmish  in  the  new  scale  of  war 
and  the  engagements  with  Uhlans  mere  scuffles,  and  that 
behind  the  screen  of  these  infinitesimal  phenomena  tlie 
German  Army,  unimagined  in  its  hugeness,  horror  and 
miglit,  was  creeping  like  a  fatal  and  monstrous  cater- 
pillar surely  towards  France. 

A  similar  screen  hid  from  him  the  realities  of  England. 
He  saw  bunting  and  recruits,  and  the  crowds  outside 
consulates.  But  he  had  no  idea  of  the  ceaseless  flight 
of  innumerable  crammed  trains  day  and  night   south- 


THE  ROLL-CALL  343 

wards,  of  the  gathering  together  of  Atlantic  liners  and 
excursion  steamers  from  all  the  coasts  into  an  unprec- 
edented Armada,  of  the  sighting  of  the  vanguard  of  that 
Armada  by  an  incredulous  Boulogne,  of  the  landing  of 
British  regiments  and  guns  and  aeroplanes  in  the  midst 
of  a  Boulogne  wonderstruck  and  delirious,  and  of  the 
thrill  which  thereupon  ecstatically  shivered  through 
France.  He  knew  only  that  "  the  Expeditionary  Force 
had  landed  in  safety." 

He  could  not  believe  that  a  British  Army  could  face 
successfully  the  legendary  Prussians  with  their  Great 
General  Staff,  and  yet  he  had  a  mystic  and  entirely 
illogical  belief  in  the  invincibility  of  the  British  Army. 
He  had  read  somewhere  that  the  German  forces 
amounted  in  all  to  the  equivalent  of  over  three  hundred 
divisions;  he  had  been  reliably  told  that  the  British 
forces  in  France  amounted  to  three  divisions  and  some 
cavalry.  It  was  most  absurd;  but  his  mysticism  sur- 
vived the  absurdity,  so  richly  was  it  nourished  by  news 
from  the  strange,  inartistic  colonies,  where  architecture 
was  not  understood.  Revelation  came  to  George  that 
the  British  Empire,  which  he  had  always  suspected  to 
be  an  invention  of  those  intolerable  persons  the  Ln- 
perialists,  was  after  all  something  more  than  a  crude 
pink  smear  across  the  map  of  the  world. 

Withal  he  was  acutely  dejected  as  he  left  his  office  t& 
go  to  the  Club. 

n 

Sir  Isaac  was  sitting  quite  alone  in  the  large  smoking- 
room  of  the  Artists  in  Albemarle  Street, —  a  beautiful 
apartment  terribly  disfigured  by  its  pictures,  which  had 
been  procured  from  fashionable  members  in  the  fashion- 
able taste  of  twenty  years  earlier  and  were  crying  out 
for  some  one  brave  enough  to  put  them  out  of  their 


344  THE  ROLL-CALL 

miser}'.  No  interpretation  of  the  word  "  artist  "  could 
by  any  ingenuity  be  stretched  to  include  Sir  Isaac. 
Nevertheless  he  belonged  to  the  Club,  and  so  did  a  num- 
ber of  other  men  in  like  case.  The  difference  between 
Sir  Isaac  and  the  rest  was  that  Sir  Isaac  did  actually 
buy  pictures,  though  seldom  from  fashionable  painters. 

He  was  a  personage  of  about  forty-five  j'ears,  with  a 
rather  prominent  belly,  but  not  otherwise  stout ;  a  dark 
man;  plenty  of  stiff  black  hair  (except  for  one  small 
central  bald  patch ;  a  rank  moustache,  and  a  clean- 
shaven chin  apparently  woaded  in  the  manner  of  the 
ancient  Britons ;  elegantly  and  yet  severely  dressed, — 
braided  morning-coat,  striped  trousers,  small  skin-fit- 
ting boots,  a  black  flowered-silk  necktie.  As  soon  as 
you  drew  near  him  you  became  aware  of  his  respiratory 
processes ;  you  were  bound  to  notice  continualh'  that 
without  ceasing  he  carried  on  the  elemental  business  of 
existence.  Hair  sprouted  from  his  nose,  and  the  nose 
was  enormous ;  it  led  at  a  pronounced  slope  to  his  high 
forehead,  which  went  on  upwards  at  exactly  the  same 
angle  and  was  lost  in  his  hair.  If  the  chin  had  weakly 
receded,  as  it  often  does  in  this  type.  Sir  Isaac  would 
have  had  a  face  like  a  spear-head,  like  a  ram  of  which 
the  sharp  point  was  the  tip  of  his  nose ;  but  Sir  Isaac's 
chin  was  square,  and  the  wall  of  it  perpendicular. 

His  expression  was  usually  inquisitive,  dissatisfied, 
and  disdainful, —  the  effect  being  produced  by  a  slight 
lifting  of  the  back  of  the  nostrils  and  a  slight  tipping 
forward  of  the  whole  head.  His  tone,  however,  often  by 
its  bluff  good-humour  contradicted  the  expression.  He 
had  in  an  extreme  degree  the  appearance  of  a  Jew  and 
he  had  the  names  of  a  Jew;  and  most  people  said  he 
was  a  Jew.  But  he  himself  seriously  denied  it.  He 
asserted  that  he  came  of  a  Welsh  Nonconformist  family, 
addicted  to   christening  its  infants  out  of  the   Bible, 


THE  ROLL-CALL  345 

and  could  prove  his  descent  for  generations, —  not  that 
he  minded  being  taken  for  a  Jew  (he  would  add),  was 
indeed  rather  flattered  thercb}^  but  he  simply  was  not  a 
Jew.  At  any  rate  he  was  Welsh.  A  journalist  had 
described  him  in  a  phrase :  "  All  the  time  he's  talking 
to  you  in  English  you  feel  he's  thinking  something  dif- 
ferent in  Welsh."  He  was  an  exceedingly  rich  indus- 
trial, and  had  made  his  money  by  organisation ;  he 
seemed  always  to  have  leisure. 

"  Here,"  he  curtly  advised  George,  producing  a  mag- 
nificent Partaga,  similar  to  the  one  he  was  himself  smok- 
ing, "  you'd  better  have  this." 

He   cut  the   cigar   carefully   with   a   club   tool,   and 
pushed  the  matchstand  across  the  table  with  a  brusque 
gesture.     George  would  not  thank  him  for  the  cigar. 
"  You're  on  that  Indian  barracks,  aren't  you.^  " 
"  Yes.     They're  in  a  Hades  of  a  hurry." 
"  Well,  my  factory  is  in  much  more  of  a  hurr}^" 
George  was  startled.     He  had  heard  nothing  of  the 
factory  for  a  month,  and  had  assumed  that  the  war  had 
scotched  the  enterprise. 
He  said : 

"  Then  the  war  won't  stop  you?  " 
Sir  Isaac  shook  his  head  slowly,  with  an  arrogant 
smile.  It  then  occurred  to  George  that  this  man  dif- 
fered strangely  from  all  other  men  —  because  the  sin- 
ister spell  of  the  war  had  been  powerless  over  him  alone. 
All  other  men  bore  the  war  in  their  faces  and  in  their 
gestures,  but  this  man  did  not. 

"  I'm    going    to    make    munitions    now, —  explosives. 

I'm  going  to  have  the  biggest  explosives  factory  in  the 

world.     However,  the  modifications  in  the  general  plan 

won't  be  serious.     I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  that." 

"  Have  you  got  contracts  then,  already  ?  " 

"  No.     Both  the  War  Office  and  the  Admiraltv  have 


346  THE  ROLL-CALL 

told  me  they  have  all  the  explosives  they  want,"  he 
sneered.  "  But  I've  made  a  few  enquiries,  and  I  think 
that  by  the  time  my  factory's  up  they'll  be  wanting  more 
explosives  than  they  can  get.  In  fact  I  wish  I  could 
build  half  a  dozen  factories.     Daresay  I  shall." 

"  Then  you  think  we're  in  for  a  long  war.?  " 

"  Not  specially  that.  If  it's  a  long  war  you  English 
will  win.  If  it's  a  short  war  the  Germans  will  win,  and 
it  will  be  the  end  of  France  as  a  great  power.  That's 
all." 

"  Won't  it  be  the  end  of  your  factory  too?  " 

"  Noh !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Isaac  with  careless  compas- 
sion in  his  deep,  viscid  voice.  "  If  it's  a  short  war, 
there'll  be  another  war.  You  English  will  never  leave 
it  alone.  So  that  whatever  happens,  if  I  take  up  ex- 
plosives, I  can't  go  wrong.     It's  velvet." 

"  It  seems  to  me  we  shall  bust  up  the  whole  world  if 
we  aren't  careful,  soon." 

Sir  Isaac  smiled  more  compassion. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said  easily.  "  Not  at  all.  Things 
are  always  arranged  in  the  end  —  more  or  less  satisfac- 
torily, of  course.  It's  up  to  the  individual  to  look  out 
for  himself." 

George  said : 

"  I  was  thinking  of  going  into  the  Army." 

The  statement  was  not  strictly  untrue,  but  he  had 
never  fornmlated  it  and  he  had  never  thought  consecu- 
tively of  such  a  project,  which  did  indeed  appear  too 
wild  and  unpractical  for  serious  consideration. 

"  This  recruiting's  been  upsetting  you," 

George's  vague  patriotism  seemed  to  curdle  at  these 
half-dozen  scornful  words. 

"  Do  you  think  I  oughtn't  to  go  into  the  Army,  Sir 
Isaac?  " 

"  My  dear  boy.     Any  can  go  into  the 


THE  ROLL-CALL  347 

Army.  And  if  you  go  into  the  Army  you'll  lose  your 
special  qualities.  I  see  you  as  the  best  factory  designer 
we  have,  architecturally.  You've  only  just  started,  but 
you  have  it  in  you.  And  your  barracks  is  pretty  good. 
Of  course,  if  you  choose  to  indulge  in  sentimentality 
you  can  deprive  the  country  of  an  architect  in  a  mil- 
lion and  make  it  a  present  of  a  mediocre  soldier  —  for 
you  haven't  got  the  mind  of  a  soldier.  But  if  you  do 
that,  mark  my  words, —  you'll  only  do  it  to  satisfy  the 
egotism  that  you  call  your  heart,  you'll  only  do  it  in 
order  to  feel  comfortable;  just  as  a  woman  gives  a 
penny  to  a  beggar  and  thinks  it's  charity  when  it's 
nothing  of  the  sort.  There  are  fellows  that  go  and 
enlist  because  they  hear  a  band  play." 

"  Yes,"  George  concurred.  He  hated  to  feel  himself 
confronted  by  a  mind  more  realistic  than  his  own,  but 
he  was  realistic  enough  to  admit  the  fact.  What  Sir 
Isaac  said  was  unanswerable,  and  it  appealed  very 
strongly  to  George.  He  cast  away  his  sentimentality, 
ashamed  of  it.  And  at  the  same  time  he  felt  greatly 
relieved  in  other  ways. 

"  You'd  better  put  this  Indian  barracks  on  one  side 
as  much  as  you  can,  or  employ  some  one  to  help  you.  I 
shall  want  all  your  energies." 

"  But  I  shall  probably  have  to  go  to  India.  The 
thing's  very  urgent." 

Sir  Isaac  scorned  him  in  a  profound  gaze.  The 
smoke  from  their  two  magnificent  cigars  mingled  in  a 
canopy  above  them. 

"  Not  it !  "  said  Sir  Isaac.  "  WTiat's  more,  it's  not 
wanted  at  all.  They  think  it  is,  because  they're  abso- 
lutely incapable  of  thought.  They  know  the  word 
'  war '  and  they  know  the  word  '  barracks.'  They 
put  them  together  and  imagine  it's  logic.  They  say: 
'  We  were  going  to  build  a  barracks,  and  now  we're  at 


U8  THE  ROLL-CALL 

war.  Therefore  we  must  hurry  up  with  the  barracks.' 
That's  how  they  reason,  and  the  official  mind  will  never 
get  beyond  it.  Why  do  they  want  the  barracks.?  If 
they  want  the  barracks,  what's  the  meaning  of  what 
they  call  'the  response  of  the  Indian  Empire'.''  Are 
they  going  to  send  troops  to  India  or  take  them  away 
from  India?  They're  going  to  take  them  away  of 
course.  Mutiny  of  India's  silent  millions?  Rubbish! 
Not  because  a  mutiny  would  contradict  the  far-famed 
'  response  of  the  Indian  Empire,'  but  because  India's 
silent  millions  haven't  got  a  rifle  amongst  them.  You 
needn't  tell  me  they've  given  you  forty  reasons  for  get- 
ting on  with  that  barracks.  I  know  their  reasons.  All 
of  'em  put  together  only  mean  that  in  a  dull,  dim 
Oxford-and-Cambridge  way  they  see  a  connection  be- 
tween the  word  '  war  '   and  the  word  '  barracks.'  " 

George  laughed,  and  then,  after  a  few  seconds,  Sir 
Isaac  gave  a  short,  rough  laugh. 

"  But  if  the}'  insist  on  me  going  to  India  — "  George 
began  and  paused. 

Sir  Isaac  grew  meditative. 

"  I  say,  speaking  of  voyages,"  he  murmured  in  a  tone 
almost  dreamy.  "  If  you  have  any  loose  money,  put  it 
into  ships,  and  keep  it  there.  You'll  double  it,  you'll 
treble  it.  .   .  .  Any  ships.     No  matter  what  ships." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  got  any  loose  money,"  said  George 
curtly.  "  And  what  I  want  to  know  is,  if  they  insist 
on  me  going  to  India,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Tell  them  you  can't  go.  Tell  'em  your  professional 
engagements  won't  permit  it.  They'll  lick  your  boots, 
and  ask  humbly  if  you  can  suggest  any  suitable  person 
to  represent  you.  I  shall  want  all  your  energies,  and 
my  factory  will  be  worth  more  to  this  country  in  the 
war  than  all  the  barracks  under  heaven.  Now  just 
bend  your  eye  to  these." 


THE  ROLL-CALL  349 

He  took  some  papers  from  his  tail-pocket.  The  dis- 
cussion grew  technicah 

ni 

George  sailed  down  Piccadilly  westwards  on  the  top 
of  a  motor-bus.  The  August  afternoon  was  superb. 
Piccadilly  showed  more  than  its  usual  splendour  of 
traffic,  for  the  class  to  whom  the  sacred  word  "  Eng- 
land "  signified  personal  dominion  and  a  vast  apparatus 
of  personal  luxury  either  had  not  gone  away  for  its 
holiday  or  had  returned  therefrom  in  a  hurry.  The 
newspaper  placards  spoke  of  great  feats  of  arms  by  the 
Allies.  Through  the  leafage  of  Hyde  Park  could  be 
seen  uncountable  smart  troops  manoeuvring  in  bodies. 
On  the  top  of  the  motor-bus  a  student  of  war  was  ex- 
plaining to  an  ignorant  friend  that  the  active  adhesion 
of  Japan,  just  announced,  meant  the  beginning  of  the 
end  for  Germany.  From  Japan  he  went  to  Namur, 
stating  that  Namur  was  the  "  chief  bastion  "  of  the  de- 
fensive line,  and  that  hence  the  Germans  would  not  be 
"  allowed  "  to  take  it.  Almost  every  motor-bus  car- 
ried a  fine  specimen  of  this  type  of  philosopher,  to  whom 
the  whole  travelling  company  listened  while  pretending 
not  to  listen.  George  despised  him  for  his  manner,  but 
agreed  with  some  of  his  reasoning. 

George  was  thinking  chiefly  about  Sir  Isaac.  Im- 
pressive person,  Sir  Isaac,  even  if  hateful !  It  was  re- 
markable how  the  fellow  seemed  always  to  have  leisure. 
Organisation,  of  course!  Indubitably  the  fellow's  ar- 
guments could  not  be  gainsaid.  The  firing  line  was 
not  the  only  or  even  the  most  important  part  of  the 
national  war-machine.  To  suppose  otherwise  was  to 
share  the  crude  errors  of  the  childlike  populace  and  its 
press.  Men  were  useless  without  guns,  guns  without 
shot,  shot  without  explosives ;  and  explosives  could  not 


350  THE  ROLL-CALL 

be  produced  without  a  factory.  The  populace  would 
never  understand  the  close  interdependence  of  various 
activities ;  it  would  never  see  bej^ond  the  recruiting-sta- 
tion ;  it  was  meet  only  for  pity.  Sir  Isaac  had  uttered 
a  very  wise  saying:  "Things  are  always  arranged  in 
the  end.  .  .  .  It's  up  to  the  individual  to  look  out  for 
himself."  Sir  Isaac  was  freed  from  the  thrall  of  mob- 
sentimentality.  He  was  a  super-man.  And  he  was 
converting  George  into  a  super-man.  George  might 
have  gone  back  to  the  office,  but  he  was  going  home  in- 
stead, because  he  could  think  creatively  just  as  well 
outside  the  office  as  inside, —  so  why  should  he  accept 
the  convention  of  the  ordinary  professional  man.'*  (Sir 
Isaac  assuredly  did  not.)  He  had  telephoned  to  the 
office.  A  single  consideration  appealed  to  him :  How 
could  he  now  best  serve  his  country.'^  Beyond  question 
he  could  now  serve  his  country  best  as  an  architect.  If 
his  duty  marched  with  his  advantage,  what  matter  ."^  It 
was  up  to  the  individual  to  look  out  for  himself.  And 
he,  George,  with  already  an  immense  reputation,  would 
steadily  enhance  his  reputation,  which  in  the  end  would 
surpass  all  others  in  tlie  profession.  The  war  could  not 
really  touch  him  —  no  more  than  it  could  touch  Sir 
Isaac ;  by  good  fortune,  and  by  virtue  of  the  impar- 
tiality of  his  intelligence,  he  was  above  the  war.  .  .  . 
Yes,  Sir  Isaac,  disliked  and  unwillingly  but  deeply  re- 
spected, had  cleared  his  ideas  for  him. 

In  Elm  Park  Gardens  he  met  the  white-clad  son  of  a 
Tory  M.P.  who  lived  in  that  dignified  street. 

"  The  very  man !  Come  and  make  a  fourth,  will  you. 
Cannon?"  asked  the  youth,  dandiacal  in  flannels,  per- 
suasively and  flatteringly. 

George  demanded  with  firmness  : 

"  Who  are  the  other  two?  " 

"  Miss  Horton  and  Gladys  What's-her-name." 


THE  ROLL-CALL  351 

Why  shouldn't  he  play  at  tennis?  It  was  necessary 
to  keep  fit. 

"  All  right.      But  not  for  long,  you  know." 

"  That's  all  right.  Hurry  up  and  get  into  your 
things." 

"  Ten  minutes." 

And  in  little  more  than  ten  minutes  he  was  swinging 
a  racket  on  the  private  sward  that  separates  Elm  Park 
Gardens  East  from  Elm  Park  Gardens  West  and  is 
common  to  the  residents  of  both.  He  had  not  encoun- 
tered Lois  at  home  and  had  not  thought  it  necessary 
to  seek  her  out.  He  and  she  were  often  invited  to  play 
tennis  in  Elm  Park  Gardens. 

The  grass  was  beautifully  kept.  At  a  little  distance 
two  gardeners  were  at  work,  and  a  revolving  sprinkler 
whirled  sprays  of  glinting  water  in  a  wide  circle.  The 
back-windows  of  the  two  streets  disclosed  not  the  slight- 
est untidiness  nor  deshabille ;  rising  irregularly  in  tier 
over  tier  to  the  high  roof-line,  they  w^ere  all  open,  and 
all  neatly  curtained,  and  many  of  them  had  gorgeous 
sun-blinds.  The  sound  of  one  or  two  pianos  emerged 
faintly  on  the  warm,  still  afternoon.  Miss  Horton  and 
the  slim  Gladys  were  dressed  in  white,  with  short  skirts, 
at  once  elegant  and  athletic.  Miss  Horton,  very  tall 
and  strong,  with  clear  eyes  and  a  complexion  damaged 
by  undue  exposure  to  healthy  fresh  air,  was  a  fine  player 
of  many  years'  experience,  now  at  the  decline  of  her 
powers.  She  played  seriously,  every  stroke  conscien- 
tious and  calculated,  and  she  gave  polite,  good-humoured 
hints  to  the  youth,  her  partner.  George  and  Gladys 
were  together.  Gladys,  eighteen,  was  a  delightful  girl, 
the  raw  material  of  a  very  sound  player;  she  held  her- 
self well,  and  knew  by  instinct  what  style  was.  A  white 
belt  defined  her  waist  in  the  most  enchanting  fashion. 
George  appreciated  her,  as  a  specimen  of  the  newest  gen- 


352  THE  ROLL-CALL 

eration  of  English  girls.  There  were  thousands  of 
them  in  London  alone,  an  endless  supply,  with  none  of 
the  namby-pambiness  and  the  sloppiness  and  the  blowsi- 
ness  of  their  forerunners.  Walking  in  Piccadilly  or 
Bond  Street  or  the  Park,  you  migJit  nowadays  fancy 
yourself  in  Paris.  .  .  .  Why  indeed  should  he  not  be 
playing  tennis  at  that  hour?  The  month  was  August. 
The  apparatus  of  pleasure  was  there.  Used  or  unused, 
it  would  still  be  there.  It  could  not  be  destroyed  sim- 
ply because  the  times  were  grave.  And  there  was  his 
health ;  he  would  work  better  after  the  exercise.  What 
purpose  could  there  be  in  mournful  inactivity?  Yet 
continuously,  as  he  ran  about  the  court,  and  smiled  at 
Gladys,  and  called  out  the  score,  and  exclaimed  upon 
his  failures  in  precision,  the  strange  physical  weight  op- 
pressed his  stomach.  He  supposed  that  nearly  every- 
body carried  that  physical  weight.  But  did  Sir  Isaac? 
Did  the  delicious  Gladys  ?  The  youth  on  the  other  side 
of  the  net  was  in  the  highest  spirits  because  in  a  few 
days  he  would  be  entering  Sandhurst. 

A  butler  appeared  from  the  French-window  of  the 
ground-floor  of  the  M.P.'s  house,  walked  down  the  curv- 
ing path  screened  by  a  pergola,  and  came  near  the  court 
with  a  small  white  paper  in  his  solemn  hand.  At  a  suit- 
able moment  he  gave  the  paper  to  the  young  master,  who 
glanced  at  it  and  stuffed  it  into  his  pocket ;  the  butler 
departed.  A  few  minutes  later  the  players  changed 
courts.  While  the  girls  chatted  apart,  the  youth  leaped 
over  the  net,  and,  drawing  the  paper  from  his  pocket, 
showed  it  furtively  to  George.     It  bore  the  words : 

"  Namur  has  fallen." 

The  M.P.'s  household  received  special  news  by  tele- 
phone from  a  friend  at  the  War  Office. 

The  youth  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  witli  a  side-glance 
seemed  to  say  that  there  could  be  no  object  in  telling 


THE  ROLL-CALL  353 

the  women  immediately.     The   next  instant   the   game 
was  resumed  with  full  ardour. 

George  missed  his  strokes.  Like  thousands  of  other 
people,  untaught  by  the  episode  of  Liege,  he  had  counted 
upon  Namur.  Namur,  the  bastion,  the  shoulder  of  the 
newly-forming  line,  if  not  impregnable,  was  expected  to 
hold  out  for  many  days.  And  it  had  tumbled  like  a  tin 
church,  and  with  it  the  brave  edifice  of  his  confidence. 
He  saw  the  Germans  inevitably  in  Paris,  blowing  up 
Paris  quarter  by  quarter,  arrondissement  by  arrondisse- 
ment,  imposing  peace,  dictating  peace,  forcing  upon 
Europe  unspeakable  humiliations.  He  saw  Great  Brit- 
ain compelled  to  bow ;  and  he  saw  worse  than  that.  And 
the  German  officer,  having  struck  across  the  face  with 
his  cane  the  soldier  standing  at  attention,  would  go  back 
to  Germany  in  triumph  more  arrogant  than  ever,  to  ogle 
adoring  virgins  and  push  cowed  and  fatuous  citizens  off 
the  pavement  into  the  gutter.  The  solid  houses  of  Elm 
Park  Gardens,  with  their  rich  sun-blinds,  the  perfect 
sward,  the  white-frocked  girls,  the  respectful  gardeners, 
the  red  motor-buses  flitting  past  behind  the  screen  of 
bushes  in  the  distance,  even  the  butler  in  his  majestic 
and  invulnerable  self-conceit, —  the  whole  systematised 
scene  of  correctness  and  tradition  trembled  as  if  per- 
ceived through  the  quivering  of  hot  air.  Gladys,  reliant 
on  the  male  and  feeling  that  the  male  could  no  longer 
be  relied  on,  went  "  off  her  game,"  with  apologies ;  the 
experience  of  Miss  Horton  asserted  itself,  and  the  hard- 
fought  set  was  lost  by  George  and  his  partner.  He  re- 
minded the  company  that  he  had  only  come  for  a  short 
time,  and  left  in  a  mood  of  bitter  blackness. 

IV 

In  front  of  his  own  house  George  saw  a  tradesman's 
coupe  of  the  superior  discreet  sort,  with  a  smart  horse 


354.  THE  ROLL-CALL 

(the  same  being  more  "distinctive"  than  motor-trac- 
tion), a  driver  liveried  in  black,  and  the  initials  of  the 
firm  in  a  restrained  monogram  on  the  doors.  He 
thought :     "  She's  blueing  money  again.     Of  course  it's 

her  own,  but "     He  was  extremely  sardonic.     In 

the  drawing-room  he  found  not  only  Lois  but  Laurencine 
and  an  attentive,  respectful,  bright-faced  figure  rather 
st3'lishly  dressed  in  black.  This  last  was  fastening  a 
tea-gown  on  the  back  of  pale  Lois,  who  stood  up 
with  a  fatigued,  brave  air.  Laurencine  sat  critically 
observant  on  the  end  of  a  sofa.  The  furniture  of  the 
room  was  heaped  with  tea-gowns,  and  other  gar- 
ments not  very  dissimilar,  producing  a  rich  and  ex- 
citing effect.  All  three  women  quickened  to  George's 
entry. 

"  Oh !  George !  "  said  Lois  querulously.  "  Are  you 
going  to  play  tennis .''  I  wish  I  could  !  I'm  so  glad  you 
came  in ;  we'd  no  idea  you  were  in  the  house,  had  we, 
Laurencine.''  Laurencine's  giving  me  a  tea-gown. 
Which  of  them  do  you  prefer.''  It's  no  good  me  having 
one  you  don't  like." 

He  had  been  unjust  to  her,  then. 

"  It's  really  her  birthday  present,"  said  Laurencine, 
"  only  a  bit  late.  Oh !  dear !  Darling,  do  sit  down, 
you're  standing  too  long." 

Both  Laurencine  and  the  young  woman  in  black  re- 
garded Lois  with  soft  compassion,  and  she  sat  down. 
Laurencine  too  was  a  mother.  But  she  had  retained 
her  girlhood.  She  was  a  splendid,  powerful,  erect  crea- 
ture, handsome,  with  a  frank,  benevolent,  sane  face,  at 
the  height  of  her  physical  perfection.  George  had  a 
great  fondness  for  her.  Years  earlier  he  had  won- 
dered how  it  was  that  he  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  her 
instead  of  with  Lois.     But  he  knew  the   reason  now. 


THE  ROLL-CALL  355 

She  lacked  force  of  individuality.  She  was  an  adorer 
by  instinct.  She  adored  Lois ;  Lois  could  do  no  wrong. 
More  strange,  she  adored  her  husband.  Ingenuous  sim- 
pleton! Yet  wise!  Another  thing  was  that  her  mind 
Avas  too  pure.  Instead  of  understanding,  it  rejected. 
It  was  a  mind  absolutely  impregnable  to  certain  phe- 
nomena. And  this  girl  still  enjoyed  musical  comedies 
and  their  successors  in  vogue,  the  revues ! 

"  The  Germans  have  taken  Namur,"  George  an- 
nounced. 

The  news  impressed.  Even  the  young  woman  in 
black  permitted  hei'self  by  a  facial  gesture  to  show  that 
she  was  interested  in  the  war  as  well  as  in  tea-gowns, 
and  apart  from  its  effect  on  tea-gowns. 

"  Oh  !     Dear !  "  murmured  Laurencine. 

"  Is  it  serious.'*  "  Lois  demanded. 

"  You  bet  it  is !  "  George  replied. 

"But  Avhat's  Sir  John  French  doing,  then?  I  say, 
Laurencine,  I  think  I  shall  have  that  pale  blue  one,  after 
all,  if  you  don't  mind."  The  black  young  woman  went 
across  to  the  piano  and  brought  the  pale  blue  one. 
"George,  don't  you  think  so.-^  " 

The  gown  was  deferentially  held  out  for  his  inspec- 
tion. 

"  Well,  I  can't  judge  if  I  don't  see  it  on,  can  1?  "  he 
said,  yielding  superciliously  to  their  mood.  Women 
were  incurable,  Namur  had  fallen,  but  the  room  was 
full  of  finery,  and  the  finery  claimed  attention.  And  if 
Paris  had  fallen,  it  would  have  been  the  same.  So  he 
told  himself.  Nevertheless  the  spectacle  of  the  heaped 
finery  and  its  absorbed  priestess  was  very  agreeable. 
Lois  rose.  Laurencine  and  the  priestess  helped  her  to 
remove  the  white  gown  she  wore,  and  to  put  on  the 
blue  one.     The  presence  of  the  male  somewhat  disturbed 


356  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  priestess,  but  the  male  had  signified  a  wish  and  the 
wish  was  flattering  and  had  to  be  fulfilled.  George, 
cynically,  enjoyed  her  constraint.  He  might  at  least 
have  looked  out  of  the  window,  but  he  would  not. 

"  Yes,  that's  fine,"  he  decided  carelessly,  when  the 
operation  was  done.  He  did  not  care  a  pin  which  tea- 
gown  Lois  had. 

"  I  knew  you'd  like  it  better,"  said  Lois  eagerly. 
The  other  two,  in  words  or  by  demeanour,  applauded  his 
august  choice. 

The  affair  was  over.  The  priestess  began  to  collect 
her  scattered  stock  into  a  light  trunk.  Behind  her 
back,  Lois  took  hold  of  Laurencine  and  kissed  her 
fondly.  Laurencine  smiled,  and  persuaded  Lois  into  a 
chair. 

"  You  will  of  course  keep  that  on,  madam,"  the 
priestess  suggested. 

*'  Oh,  yes,  darling,  you  must  rest,  really  !  "  said  Laur- 
encine earnestly. 

*'  Thank  you,  madam." 

In  three  minutes,  the  priestess,  bearing  easily  the 
trunk  by  a  strap,  had  gone,  bowing.  Lois'  old  tea- 
gown,  flung  across  the  head  of  the  sofa,  alone  remained 
to  brighten  the  furniture. 

The  drawing-room  door  opened  again  immediately, 
and  a  military  officer  entered.  Laurencine  sprang  up 
with  a  little  girlish  scream  and  ran  to  him. 

"  Oh !  Dearest !  Have  you  got  them  already  ? 
You  never  told  me  you  would  have!  How  lovely  you 
look !  " 

Blushing  with  pleasure  and  pride,  she  kissed  him. 
It  was  Everard  Lucas.  Laurencine  had  come  to  Elm 
Park  Road  that  afternoon  with  the  first  news  that  Ever- 
ard, through  a  major  known  to  his  late  mother,  had 


THE  ROLL-CALL  357 

been  offered  a  commission  in  a  Territorial  line  regiment. 
George,  who  saw  Lucas  but  seldom,  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  this  enormous  family  event,  and  he  was  as- 
tounded; he  had  not  been  so  taken  back  by  anything 
perhaps  for  years.  Lucas  was  rounder  and  his  face 
somewhat  coarser  than  in  the  past ;  but  the  uniform  had 
created  a  new  Lucas.  It  was  beautifully  made  and  he 
wore  it  well ;  it  suited  him ;  he  had  the  fine  military  air  of 
a  regular;  he  showed  no  awkwardness,  only  a  simple 
vanity. 

"  Don't  you  feel  as  if  you  must  kiss  him,  Lois 
darling?  "  said  Laurencine. 

"  Oh !  I  certainly  must !  "  Lois  cried,  forgetting  her 
woes  in  the  new  tea-gown  and  in  the  sudden  ecstasy  pro- 
duced by  the  advent  of  an  officer  into  the  family. 

Lucas  bent  down  and  kissed  his  sister-in-law,  while 
Laurencine  beheld  the  act  with  delight. 

"  The  children  must  see  you  before  you  go,"  said 
Lois. 

"  Madam,  they  shall  see  their  uncle,"  Lucas  answered. 
At  any  rate  his  agreeable  voice  had  not  coarsened. 
He  tui-ned  to  George :  "  What  d'you  think  of  it, 
George  ?  " 

"  My  boy,  I'm  proud  of  you,"  said  George.  In  his 
tennis-flannels  he  felt  like  one  who  has  arrived  at  an 
evening  party  in  morning  dress.  And  indeed  he  was 
proud  of  Lucas.  Something  profound  and  ingenuous 
in  him  rose  into  his  eyes  and  caused  them  to  shine. 

Lucas  related  his  adventures  with  the  tailor  and  other 
purveyors,  and  explained  that  he  had  to  "  join  his  regi- 
ment "  the  next  day,  but  would  be  able  to  remain  in 
London  for  the  present.  George  questioned  him  about 
his  business  affairs. 

"  No   difficulty   about   that  whatever !  "   said  Lucas 


358  THE  ROLL-CALL 

lightly.  "  The  old  firm  will  carry  on  as  usual ;  En- 
wright  and  Orgreave  will  have  to  manage  it  between 
them ;  and  of  course  they  wouldn't  dream  of  trying  to 
cut  off  the  spondulicks.  Not  that  I  should  let  that 
stop  me  if  they  did." 

"  Yes,  it's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk  like  that !  " 
said  Lois  with  a  swift  change  of  tone.  "  You've  got 
partners  to  do  your  work  for  you,  and  you've  got 
money.  .  .  .  Have  you  written  to  mother,  Lauren- 
cine.''  " 

George  objected  to  his  wife  making  excuses.  His 
gaze  faltered. 

"  Of  course,  darling!  "  Laurencine  answered  eagerly, 
agreeing  with  her  sister's  differentiation  between  George 
and  Everard.  "  No,  not  yet.  But  I'm  going  to  to- 
night.    Everard,  we  ought  to  be  off." 

"  I've  got  a  taxi  outside,"  said  Lucas. 

"  A  taxi?  "  she  repeated  in  a  disappointed  tone.  And 
then,  as  an  afterthought :  "  Well,  I  have  to  call  at 
Debenham's." 

The  fact  was  that  Laurencine  wanted  to  be  seen 
walking  with  her  military  officer  in  some  well-frequented 
thoroughfare.     They  lived  at  Hampstead. 

Lois  rang  the  bell. 

"  Ask  nurse  to  bring  the  children  down,  please  —  at 
once,"  she  told  the  parlourmaid. 

"  So  this  is  the  new  tea-gown,  if  I  mistake  not!  "  ob- 
served Lucas  in  the  pause.  "  Tres  chic!  I  suppose 
Laurencine's  told  you  all  about  the  chauffeur  being  run 
oflp  with  against  his  will  by  a  passionate  virgin.  / 
couldn't  start  the  car  this  morning  myself." 

"  You  never  could  start  a  car  by  yourself,  my  boy," 
said  George.  "  What's  this  about  the  passionate 
virgin  ?  " 


THE  ROLL-CALL  359 


George  woke  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Lois 
slept  cahnly  ;  he  could  just  hear  her  soft  breathing.  He 
thought  of  all  the  occupied  bedrooms,  of  the  health  of 
children,  the  incalculable  quality  in  wives,  the  touchy 
stupidity  of  nurses  and  servants.  The  mere  human 
weight  of  the  household  oppressed  him  terribly.  And 
he  thought  of  the  adamant  of  landlords,  the  shifty  ra- 
pacity of  tradesmen,  the  incompetence  of  clerks,  the 
mere  pompous  foolishness  of  Government  departments, 
the  arrogance  of  Jew  patrons,  and  the  terrifying  com- 
plexity of  problems  of  architecture  on  a  large  scale. 
He  was  the  Atlas  supporting  a  vast  world  a  thousand 
times  more  complex  than  any  problem  of  architecture. 
He  wondered  how  he  did  it.  But  he  did  do  it,  alone ;  and 
he  kept  on  doing  it.  Let  him  shirk  the  burden,  and  not 
a  world  but  an  entire  universe  would  crumble.  If  he 
told  Lois  that  he  was  going  to  leave  her,  she  would  col- 
lapse ;  she  would  do  dreadful  things.  He  was  indis- 
pensable, not  only  at  home  but  professionally.  All  was 
upon  his  shoulders  and  upon  nobody  else's.  He  was 
bound,  he  was  a  prisoner,  he  had  no  choice,  he  was  per- 
forming his  highest  duty,  he  was  fulfilling  the  widest 
usefulness  of  which  he  was  capable.  .  .  .  Besides,  sup- 
posing he  did  go  insane  and  shirk  the  burden,  they  would 
all  say  that  he  had  been  influenced  by  Lucas's  uniform 
—  the  mere  sight  of  the  uniform  !  —  like  a  girl !  He 
could  not  stand  that,  because  it  would  be  true.  Not 
that  he  would  ever  admit  its  truth !  He  recalled  Lucas's 
tact  in  refraining  from  any  suggestion,  even  a  jocular 
suggestion,  that  he,  George,  ought  also  to  be  in  uniform. 
Lucas  was  always  tactful.  Be  damned  to  his  tact ! 
And  the  too  eager  excuses  made  by  Lois  in  his  behalf 
also  grated  on  liis  susceptibility.     He  had  no  need  of 


360  THE  ROLL-CALL 

excuses.  The  woman  was  taciturn  by  nature,  and  yet 
she  was  constantly  saying  too  much  1  And  did  any  of 
the  three  of  them  —  Lois,  Laurencine  and  Lucas  — 
really  appreciate  the  war?  They  did  not.  They  could 
not  envisage  it.  Lucas  was  wearing  uniform  solely  in 
obedience  to  an  instinct. 

At  this  point  the  cycle  of  his  reflections  was  com- 
pleted, and  began  again.  He  thought  of  all  the  occu- 
pied bedrooms.  .  .  .  Thus,  in  the  dark,  warm  night 
the  contents  of  his  mind  revolved  endlessly,  with  ex- 
treme tedium  and  extreme  distress,  and  each  moment 
his  mood  became  more  morbid. 

An  occasional  sound  of  traffic  penetrated  into  the 
room, —  strangely  mournful,  a  reminder  of  the  immense 
and  ineffable  melancholy  of  a  city  which  could  not 
wholly  lose  itself  in  sleep.  The  window  lightened.  He 
could  descry  his  wife's  portable  clock  on  the  night- 
table.  A  quarter  to  four.  Turning  over  savagely  in 
bed,  he  muttered :  "  My  night's  done  for.  And  nearly 
five  hours  to  breakfast.  Good  God !  "  The  cycle  re- 
sumed and  was  enlarged. 

At  intervals  he  imagined  that  he  dozed ;  he  did  doze,  if 
it  is  possible  while  you  are  dozing  to  know  that  you  doze. 
His  personality  separated  into  two  personalities  if  not 
more.  He  was  on  a  vast  plain,  and  yet  he  was  not 
there,  and  the  essential  point  of  the  scene  was  that  he 
was  not  there.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
men  stood  on  this  plain,  which  had  no  visible  boundaries. 
A  roll-call  was  proceeding.  A  resounding  and  mysteri- 
ous voice  called  out  names,  and  at  each  name  a  man 
stepped  briskly  from  the  crowds  and  saluted  and  walked 
away.  But  there  was  no  visible  person  to  receive  the 
salute ;  the  voice  was  bodiless.  George  became  increas- 
ingly apprehensive ;  he  feared  a  disaster,  3^et  he  could 
not  believe  that  it  would  occur.     It  did  occur.     Before 


THE  ROLL-CALL  361 

it  arrived  he  knew  that  it  was  arriving.  The  voice  cried 
solemnly : 

"  George  Edwin  Cannon." 

An  awful  stillness  and  silence  followed,  enveloping 
the  entire  infinite  plain.  George  trembled.  He  was 
there,  but  he  was  not  there.  Men  looked  at  each  other, 
raising  their  eyebrows.  The  voice  did  not  deign  to 
repeat  the  call.  After  a  suitable  pause,  the  voice  cried 
solemnly : 

"  Everard  Lucas." 

And  Lucas  in  his  new  uniform  stepped  gravel}'  for- 
ward and  saluted  and  walked  away. 

"  Was  I  asleep  or  awake  ?  "  George  asked  himself. 
He  could  not  decide.  At  any  rate  the  scene  impressed 
him.  The  bigness  of  the  plain,  the  summons,  the  si- 
lence, the  utter  absence  of  an  expression  of  reproof  or 
regret, —  of  any  comment  whatever. 

At  five  o'clock  he  arose,  and  sat  down  in  his  dressing- 
gown  at  Lois'  very  untidy  and  very  small  writing  desk, 
and  wrote  a  letter  on  her  notepaper.  The  early  morn- 
ing was  lovely ;  it  was  celestial. 

"  Dear  Davids,"  the  letter  began.  That  would  an- 
noy the  fellow,  who  liked  the  address  respectful.  "  Dear 
Davids.  I  have  decided  to  join  the  army,  and  there- 
fore cannot  proceed  further  with  your  commission. 
However,  the  general  idea  is  complete.  I  advise  you 
to  get  it  carried  out  by  Lucas  and  Enwright.  En- 
wright  is  the  best  architect  in  England.  You  may  take 
this  from  me.  I'm  his  disciple.  You  might  ring  me  up 
at  the  office  this  afternoon.  Yours  faithfully.  George 
Cannon.  P.  S.  Assuming  you  go  to  Lucas  and  En- 
wright, I  can  either  make  some  arrangement  with  them 
as  to  sharing  fees,  myself,  or  you  can  pay  me  an  agreed 
sum  for  the  work  I've  done,  and  start  afresh  elsewhere. 
I  shall  want  all  the  money  I  can  get  hold  of." 


362  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Yes,  Sir  Isaac  would  be  very  angry.  George  smiled. 
He  was  not  triumphant,  but  he  was  calm.  In  the  full 
sanity  of  the  morning,  every  reason  against  his  going 
into  the  army  had  vanished.  The  material  objection 
was  ridiculous  —  with  Edwin  Clayhanger  at  the  back  of 
him  !  Moreover,  some  mone}'  would  be  coming  in.  The 
professional  objection  was  equally  ridiculous.  The  de- 
sign for  the  Indian  barracks  existed  complete ;  any  mid- 
dle-aged mediocrity  could  carry  it  out  in  a  fashion,  and 
Lucas  and  Enwright  could  carry  it  out  better  than  he 
could  carry  it  out  himself.  As  for  Davids,  he  had 
written.  There  was  nothing  else  of  importance  in  his 
oflBce.  The  other  competition  had  not  been  won.  If 
people  said  that  he  had  been  influenced  by  Lucas's  uni- 
form, well,  they  must  say  it.  They  would  not  say  it  for 
more  than  a  few  days.  After  a  few  days  the  one  inter- 
esting fact  would  be  that  he  had  joined.  By  such  simple 
and  curt  arguments  did  he  annihilate  the  once  over- 
whelming reasons  against  his  joining  the  army. 

But  he  did  not  trouble  to  marshal  the  reasons  in  fa- 
vour of  his  joining  the  army.  He  had  only  one  reason: 
he  must !  He  quite  ignored  the  larger  aspects  of  the 
war  —  the  future  of  civilisation,  freedom  versus  slav- 
ery, right  versus  wrong,  even  the  responsibilities  of 
citizenship  and  the  implications  of  patriotism.  His 
decision  was  the  product,  not  of  argument,  but  of  feel- 
ing. However,  he  did  not  feel  a  bit  virtuous.  He  had 
to  join  the  army,  and  "  that  was  all  there  was  to  it." 
A  beastly  nuisance,  this  world-war !  It  was  interfering 
with  his  private  affairs ;  it  might  put  an  end  to  his  pri- 
vate affairs  altogether;  he  hated  soldiering;  he  looked 
inimically  at  the  military  caste.  An  unspeakable  nui- 
sance !  But  there  the  war  was,  and  he  was  going  to 
answer  to  liis  name.  He  simply  could  not  tolerate  the 
dreadful  silence  and  stillness  on  the  plain  after  his  name 


THE  ROLL-CALL  363 

had  been  called.  "  Pooh !  Sheer  sentimentality  !  "  he 
said  to  himself,  thinking  of  the  vision  —  half  dream, 
half  fancy.     "  Rotten  sentimentality !  " 

He  asked: 

"  Damn  it!     Am  I  an  Englishman  or  am  I  not?  " 

Like  most  Englishmen,  he  was  much  more  an  English- 
man than  he  ever  suspected. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing,  George?  " 

At  the  voice  of  his  wife,  he  gave  a  nervous  jump,  and 
then  instantly  controlled  himself  and  looked  round. 
Her  voice  was  soft,  liquid,  weak  with  slumber.  But,  ly- 
ing calmly  on  one  side,  her  head  half  buried  in  the  pil- 
low, and  the  bedclothes  pushed  back  from  her  shoulders, 
she  was  wide  awake  and  gazed  at  him  steadily, 

"  I'm  just  writing  a  letter,"  he  answered  gruffly. 

"Now?     What  letter?" 

"  Here !  You  shall  read  it."  He  walked  straight 
across  the  room  in  his  gay  pyjamas  only  partly  hidden 
by  the  splendid  dressing-gown,  and  handed  her  the  let- 
ter. Moving  nothing  but  her  hand,  she  took  the  letter 
and  held  it  in  front  of  her  e^'es.  He  sat  down  between 
the  beds,  on  the  edge  of  his  own  bed,  facing  her. 

"What  ever  is  it?" 

"  Read  it.  You've  got  it,"  he  said  with  impatience. 
He  was  trembling,  aware  that  the  crisis  had  suddenly 
leapt  at  him. 

"  Oh !  " 

She  had  read  the  opening  phrase;  she  had  received 
the  first  shock.  But  the  tone  of  her  exclamation  gave 
no  clue  at  all  to  her  attitude.  It  might  mean  anything 
—  anything.  She  shut  her  eyes ;  then  glanced  at  him, 
terror-struck,  appealing,  wistful,  implacable. 

"Not  at  once?" 

"  Yes,  at  once." 

"  But  surely  you'll  at  least  wait  until  after  October." 


364;  THE  ROLL-CALL 


He  shook  his  head. 

"  But  why  can't  jou?  " 

"  I  can't." 

"  But  there's  no  object  — 

"  I've  got  to  do  it." 


5> 


"  You're  horribly  cruel." 

"  Well,  that's  me !  "  He  was  sullen,  and  as  hard  as 
a  diamond. 

"  George,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  stand  it.  It's  too 
much  to  expect.     It'll  kill  me." 

"  Not  it!  What's  the  use  of  talking  like  that.?  If 
I'd  been  in  the  Territorials  before  the  war  like  lots  of 
chaps,  I  should  have  been  gone  long  ago,  and  you'd 
have  stood  it  all  right.  Don't  you  understand  we're 
at  war?  Do  you  imagine  the  war  can  wait  for  things 
like  babies  ?  " 

She  cried: 

"  It's  no  good  you're  going  on  in  that  strain.  You 
can't  leave  me  alone  with  all  this  house  on  my  shoulders, 
and  so  that's  flat." 

"Who  wants  to  leave  3'ou  all  alone  in  the  house .'* 
You  can  go  and  stay  at  Ladderedge,  children  and  nurse 
and  all."  This  scheme  presented  itself  to  him  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Of  course  I  can't !  We  can't  go  and  plant  our- 
selves on  people  like  that.      Besides " 

"Can't  you.?     You'll  see!" 

He  caught  her  eye.  Why  was  he  being  so  brutal 
to  her.?  What  conceivable  purpose  was  served  by  this 
harshness.?  He  perceived  that  his  nerves  were  over- 
strung. And  in  a  swift  rush  of  insight  he  saw  the  whole 
situation  from  her  point  of  view.  She  was  exhausted 
by  gestation ;  she  lived  in  a  world  distorted.  Could 
she  help  her  temperament?  She  was  in  the  gravest 
need  of  his  support ;  and  he  was  an  ass,  a  blundering 


TPIE  ROLL-CALL  365 

fool.     His  severity  melted  within  him,  and  secretly  he 
became  tender  as  only  a  man  can  be. 

"  You  silly  girl ! "  he  said,  slightly  modifying  his 
voice,  taking  care  not  to  disclose  all  at  once  the  change 
in  his  mood.  "  You  silly  girl !  Can't  you  see  they'll 
be  so  proud  to  have  you  they  won't  be  able  to  contain 
themselves?  They'll  turn  the  whole  place  upside  down 
for  you.  I  know  them.  They'll  pretend  it's  nothing, 
but  mother  won't  sleep  at  night  for  thinking  how  to  ar- 
range things  for  the  best,  and  as  for  my  cuckoo  of  an 
uncle,  if  you  notice  something  funny  about  your  feet, 
it'll  be  the  esteemed  alderman  licking  your  boots. 
You'll  have  the  time  of  your  life.  In  fact  they'll  ruin 
your  character  for  j'ou.  There'll  be  no  holding  you 
afterwards." 

She  did  not  smile,  but  her  eyes  smiled.  He  had  got 
the  better  of  her.  He  had  been  cleverer  than  she  was. 
She  was  beaten. 

"  But  we  shall  have  no  money." 
"  Read  the  letter,  child.     I'm  not  a  fool." 
"  I  know  you're  not  a  fool.     No  one  knows  that  bet- 
ter than  me." 
He  went  on: 

"  And  what's  uncle's  money  for,  if  it  comes  to  that.''  " 
"  But  we  can't  sponge  on  them  like  that !  " 
"Sponge  be  dashed!     What's  money  for.''     It's  no 
good  till  it's  spent.     If  he  can't  spend  it  on  us,  who  can 
he  spend  it  on.''     He  always  makes  out  he's  fiendishly 
hard,  but  he's  the  most  generous  idiot  ever  born." 
"  Yes,  you're  awfull}^  like  him." 
"  I'm  not." 

He  was  suddenly  alive  to  the  marvellous  charm  of 
the  intimacy  of  the  scene  with  his  wife,  in  the  early  sum- 
mer dawn,  in  the  silent  enchanted  house  of  sleepers,  in 
the  disorder  of  the  heaped  bedroom.     They  were  alone 


366  THE  ROLL-CALL 

together,  shameless  in  front  of  one  another,  and  nobody 
knew  or  was,  or  could  ever  know  or  see.  Their  rela- 
tions were  unique,  the  resultant  of  long  custom,  of  fric- 
tion, of  misunderstanding,  of  affection,  of  incompre- 
hensible instincts,  of  destiny  itself.  He  thought :  "  I 
have  lived  for  this  sensation,  and  it  is  worth  living  for." 

Without  the  slightest  movement,  she  invited  him  with 
her  strange  eyes,  and  as  she  did  so  she  was  as  mysterious 
as  ever  she  had  been.  He  bent  down  responsively.  She 
put  her  hot,  clammy  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  kept 
his  head  at  a  little  distance  and  looked  through  his 
eyes  into  his  soul.     The  letter  had  dropped  to  the  floor. 

"  I  knew  you  would ! "  she  murmured,  and  then 
snatched  him  to  her,  and  kissed  him  and  kept  her  mouth 
on  his. 

"  You  didn't,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  she  loosed  him.  "  I 
didn't  know  myself." 

But  he  privately  admitted  that  perhaps  she  did  know. 
She  had  every  fault,  but  she  was  intelligent.  Con- 
stantly he  was  faced  with  that  fact.  She  did  not  under- 
stand the  significance  of  the  war;  she  lacked  imagina- 
tion; but  her  understanding  was  sometimes  terrible. 
She  was  devious ;  but  she  had  a  religion.  He  was  her 
religion.  She  would  cast  the  god  underfoot  —  and  then 
in  a  passion  of  repentance  restore  it  ardently  to  the 
sacred  niche. 

She  said: 

"  I  couldn't  have  borne  it  if  Everard  had  gone  and 
you  hadn't.  But  of  course  you  meant  to  go  all  the 
time." 

That  was  how  she  saved  his  amour  propre. 

"  I  always  knew  you  were  a  genius " 

"  Oh  !     Chuck  it,  kid  !  " 

"  But  you're  more,  somehow.     This  business " 

"You  don't  mean  joining  the  army?" 


THE  ROLL-CALL  367 

"  Yes." 

"  What  rot !  There's  nothing  in  it.  Fellows  are 
doing  it  everywhere." 

She  smiled  superiorly,  and  then  enquired: 

"How  do  you  join.''  What  are  you  going  to  do.? 
Shall  you  ask  Everard  "^  " 

"  Well "  he  hesitated.     He  had  no   desire   to 

consult  Lucas. 

"Why  don't  you  see  Colonel  Rannion.^' "  she  sug- 
gested. 

"  Jove !     That's  a  scheme.     Never  thought  of  him  !  " 

Her  satisfaction  at  the  answer  was  childlike,  and  he 
was  filled  with  delight  that  it  should  be  so.  They 
launched  themselves  into  an  interminable  discussion 
about  ever}"  possible  arrangement  of  everything.  But 
in  a  pause  of  it  he  destroyed  its  tremendous  importance 
by  remarking  casually : 

"  No  hurrjs  of  course.  I  bet  you  I  shall  be  kept 
knocking  about  here  for  months." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN    THE    MACHINE 


Colonel,  Rannion  was  the  brother  of  the  wife  of  the 
man  for  whom  George  had  built  the  house  at  Hampstead. 
George  had  met  him  several  times  at  the  dinners  and 
other  reunions  to  Mliich  a  sympathetic  architect  is  often 
invited  in  the  dwelHng  that  he  has  created.  Colonel 
Rannion  had  greatly  liked  his  sister's  house,  had  ac- 
cordingly shown  much  esteem  for  George,  and  had  even 
spoken  of  ordering  a  house  for  himself. 

Just  as  breakfast  was  being  served,  George  had  the 
idea  of  ringing  up  the  Hampstead  people  for  the  Col- 
onel's address,  which  he  obtained  at  once.  The  Colonel 
was  staying  at  the  Berkeley  Hotel.  The  next  moment 
he  got  the  Berkeley,  and  the  Colonel  in  person.  The 
Colonel  remembered  him  instantly.  George  said  he 
wanted  to  see  him.  What  about?  Well,  a  commission. 
The  Colonel  said  he  had  to  leave  the  hotel  in  twenty- 
five  minutes.  "  I  can  be  with  you  in  less  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,"  said  George, —  or  rather,  not  George  but 
some  subconscious  instinct  within  him,  acting  independ- 
ently of  him.  The  children,  with  nurse,  were  in  the 
dining-room,  waiting  to  breakfast  with  father.  They 
were  washed,  they  were  dressed ;  the  dining-room  had 
been  cleaned ;  the  pleasant  smell  of  breakfast-cooking 
wandered  through  the  rooms;  since  the  early  talk  be- 
tween George  and  Lois  in  the  silent,  sleeping  house  the 

368 


IN  THE  MACHINE  369 

house  had  gradually  come  to  life ;  it  was  now  in  full  be- 
ing—  even  to  the  girl  scrubbing  the  front-steps  — 
except  that  Lois  was  asleep.  Exhausted  after  the 
strange  and  crucial  scene,  she  had  dozed  off,  and  had. 
never  moved  throughout  George's  dressing. 

Now  he  rushed  into  the  dining-room  —  "I  have  to 
go,  nurse.  Fardy  can't  have  his  breakfast  with  you !  " 
—  and  rushed  out.  A  minute  previously  he  had  felt 
a  serious  need  of  food  after  the  long  sleepless  morning. 
The  need  vanished.  He  scurried  up  Elm  Park  Gar- 
dens like  a  boy  in  the  warm  fresh  air,  and  stopped  a  taxi. 
He  was  extremely  excited.  None  but  Lois  knew  the 
great  secret.  He  had  kept  it  to  himself.  He  might 
have  burst  into  the  kitchen  —  for  he  was  very  apt  to  be 
informal  —  and  said :  "  Well,  cook,  I'm  going  into  the 
Army !  "  What  a  household  sensation  the  news  would 
cause,  and  what  an  office  sensation !  His  action  would 
affect  the  lives  of  all  manner  of  people.  And  the  house, 
at  present  alive  and  organic,  would  soon  be  dead.  He 
was  afraid.  What  he  was  doing  was  tremendous.  Was 
it  madness?     He  had  a  feeling  of  unreality. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  Berkeley  Hotel  lay  a  large 
automobile,  with  a  spurred  and  highl}^  polished  military 
chauffeur.  At  the  door  of  Colonel  Rannion's  room  was 
stationed  a  spurred  and  highly  polished  erect  orderly, — 
formidable  contrast  to  the  flaccid  waiters  who  slouched 
palely  in  the  corridors.  The  orderly  went  into  the 
room  and  saluted  with  a  click.  George  followed,  as 
into  a  dentist's  surgery.  It  was  a  small  elegant  private 
sitting-room  resembling  a  boudoir.  In  the  midst  of 
dclicatclv-tinted  cushions  and  flower-vases  stood  Colonel 
Rannion,  grey-haired,  blue-eyed,  very  straight,  very 
tall,  very  slim  —  the  slimness  accentuated  by  a  close- 
fitting  uniform  which  began  with  red-tabs  and  ended 
in  light  leggings  and  gleaming  spurs.     He  conformed 


370  THE  ROLL-CALL 

absolutely  to  the  traditional  physical  type  of  soldier, 
and  the  sight  of  him  gave  pleasure. 

"  Good  morning,  Cannon.  Glad  to  see  you."  He 
seemed  to  put  a  secret  meaning  into  the  last  words. 

He  shook  hands  as  he  spoke,  firmly,  decisively,  effi- 
ciently. 

"  I  hope  I'm  not  troubling  you  too  much,"  George 
began. 

"  Troubling  me !  Sit  down.  You  want  a  commis- 
sion. The  Army  wants  to  give  commissions  to  men 
like  3'ou.     I  think  you  would  make  a  good  officer." 

"  Of  course  I'm  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  Army. 
Absolutely." 

"  Yes.  What  a  pity  that  is !  If  you'd  only  been  a 
pre-war  Territorial  you  might  have  done  three  weeks 
urgent  work  for  your  country  by  this  time."  The  re- 
mark was  a  polite  reproof. 

"  I  might,"  admitted  George,  to  whom  the  notion  of 
working  for  his  country  had  never  before  occurred. 

"Do  you  think  you'd  like  the  Artillery?"  Colonel 
Rannion  questioned  sharply.  His  tone  was  increasing 
in  sharpness. 

With  an  equal  sharpness  George  answered  unhesi- 
tatingly : 

"  Yes,  I  should." 

"  Can  you  ride?  " 

"  I  can  ride.  In  holidays  and  so  on  I  get  on  my 
mother's  horses." 

"  Have  you  hunted?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Hm !  .  .  .  Well,  I  know  my  friend  Colonel  Hull- 
ocher,  who  commands  the  Second  Brigade  of  —  er  — 
my  Division,  is  short  of  an  officer.  Would  you  care  for 
that?" 

"  Certainly." 


IN  THE  MACHINE  371 

Without  saying  anything  else  Colonel  Rannion  took 
up  the  telephone.  In  less  than  half  a  minute  George 
heard  him  saying:  "Colonel  Hullocher.  .  .  .  Ask  him 
to  be  good  enough  to  come  to  the  telephone  at  once. 
.  .   .  That  you,  Hullocher?" 

George  actually  trembled.  He  no  longer  felt  that 
heavy  weight  on  his  stomach,  but  he  felt  "  all  gone." 
He  saw  himself  lying  wounded  near  a  huge  gun  on  a 
battlefield. 

Colonel  Rannion  was  continuing  into  the  telephone: 

"  I  can  recommend  a  friend  of  mine  to  you  for  a 
commission.  George  Cannon  —  C-a-n-n-o-n  —  the  ar- 
chitect, I  don't  know  whether  you  know  of  him.  .  .  . 
Oh  !  About  thirty.  .  .  .  No,  but  I  think  he'd  suit  you. 
.  .  .  Who  recommends  him.''  /  do.  .  .  .  Like  to  see 
him,  I  suppose,  first?  .  .  .  No,  no  necessity  to  see  him. 
I'll  tell  him.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  shall  see  you  in  the  course  of 
the  da}'."  The  conversation  then  apparently  deviated 
to  other  subjects,  and  drew  to  a  close.  ..."  Good- 
bye. Thanks.  ...  Oh!  I  say.  Shall  he  get  his  kit? 
.  .  .  Cannon.  .  ,  .  Yes,  he'd  better.  Yes,  that's  un- 
derstood of  course.     Good-bye." 

"  That  will  be  quite  all  right,"  said  Colonel  Rannion 
to  George.  "  Colonel  Hullocher  thinks  you  may  as 
well  see  to  your  kit  at  once,  provided  of  course  you  pass 
the  doctor  and  you  are  ready  to  work  for  nothing 
until  your  commission  comes  along." 

"  Oh !  Naturally  !  "  George  agreed,  in  a  dream.  He 
was  saying  to  himself,  frightened,  astounded,  stag- 
gered, and  yet  uplifted:  "Get  my  kit!  Get  my  kit! 
But  it's  scarcely  a  minute  since  I  decided  to  go  into 
the  Army." 

"  I  may  get  your  commission  ante-dated.  I  haven't 
all  the  papers  here,  but  give  me  an  address  where  I  can 
find  you  at  once,  and  you  shall  have  them  this  afternoon. 


872  THE  ROLL-CALL 

I'll  get  the  Colonel  to  send  them  to  the  Territorial  Asso- 
ciation to-morrow,  and  probably  in  about  a  month 
you'll  be  in  the  Gazette.  I  don't  know  when  Colonel 
Hullocher  will  want  you  to  report  for  duty,  but  I  shall 
see  him  to-day.  You'll  get  a  telegram  when  you're 
needed.      Now  I  must  go.     Which  way  are  you  going?  " 

"  I'm  going  home  for  m}^  breakfast,"  said  George, 
writing  down  his  two  addresses. 

Colonel  Rannion  said : 

"  I'm  off  to  Wimbledon.  I  can  drop  you  in  Fulham 
Road  if  you  like." 

In  the  automobile  George  received  a  few  useful  hints, 
but  owing  to  the  speed  of  the  vehicle  the  time  was  far  too 
short  for  any  extensive  instruction.  The  car  drew  up. 
For  an  instant  Colonel  Rannion  became  freely  cordial. 
"  He  must  rather  have  cottoned  to  me,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  done  what  he  has,"  thought  George,  jn'oud  to  be 
seen  in  converse  with  a  staff  officer,  waving  a  hand  in 
adieu.  And  he  thought :  "  Perhaps  next  time  I  see  him 
I  shall  be  saluting  him  !  " 

The  children  and  nurse  were  still  at  breakfast. 
Nothing  had  changed  in  the  house  during  his  absence. 
But  the  whole  house  was  changed.  It  was  a  house  un- 
convincing, incredible,  which  might  vanish  at  any  mo- 
ment. He  himself  was  incredible.  What  had  happened 
was  incredible.  The  screeching  voices  of  the  children 
were  not  real  voices,  and  the  children  were  apparitions. 
The  newspaper  was  illegible.  Its  messages  for  the  most 
part  had  no  meaning,  and  such  as  bore  a  meaning 
seemed  to  be  utterly  unimportant.  The  first  reality 
for  George  was  food.  He  discovered  that  he  could  not 
eat  the  food  —  could  not  swallow ;  the  nausea  was  acute. 
He  drank  a  little  coffee,  and  then  went  upstairs  to  see 
his  wife.  Outside  the  bedroom  door  he  stood  hesitant. 
A  desolating  sadness  of  disappointment  suddenly  surged 


IN  THE  MACHINE  373 

over  him.  He  had  destroyed  his  ambitions,  he  had 
transformed  all  his  life,  by  a  single  unreflecting  and 
irretrievable  impulse.  What  he  had  done  was  terrific, 
and  yet  he  had  done  it  as  though  it  were  naught.  .  .  . 
The  mood  passed  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  and  left 
him  matter-of-fact,  grim,  as  it  were  swimming  strongly 
on  and  with  the  mighty  current  which  had  caught  him. 
He  went  into  the  bedroom  on  the  current.  Lois  was 
awake. 

"  I've  seen  Colonel  Rannion." 

"  You  haven't,  George !  " 

"  Yes,  I  have.     I've  just  come  back." 

"Well?" 

He  replied  with  his  damnable  affected  casualness : 

"  I'm  in  the  Army.  Royal  Field  Artillery.  And  so 
that's  that." 

"But  where's  your  uniform?" 

"  I  knew  3^ou'd  say  that.     I'm  in  mufti,  you  see." 

u 

He  promptly  received  his  papers  and  returned  them. 
His  medical  examination  was  quite  satisfactory.  Then 
there  was  no  further  sign  from  the  Army.  The  Army 
might  have  completely  forgotten  him;  his  enrolment  in 
the  Army  might  have  been  an  illusion.  Every  day  and 
every  hour  he  expected  a  telegram  of  command.  It  was 
in  anticipation  of  the  telegram,  curt  and  inexorable, 
that  he  kept  harrying  his  tradesmen.  To  be  caught 
unprepared  by  the  telegram  would  be  a  disaster.  But 
the  tradesmen  had  lessons  to  teach  him,  and  by  the  time 
the  kit  was  approximately  completed  he  had  learnt  the 
lessons.  Wliether  the  transaction  concerned  his  tunic, 
breeches,  spurs,  leggings,  cane,  sword,  socks,  shirts, 
cap,  camp  field-kit,  or  any  of  the  numerous  other  ar- 
ticles without  which  an  officer  might  not  respectably 


374  THE  ROLL-CALL 

enter  the  British  Army,  the  chief  lesson  was  the  same, 
namely  that  the  tradesmen  were  bearing  the  brunt  of 
the  war.  Those  who  had  enrolled  and  made  spectacular 
sacrifices  of  homes  and  careers  and  limbs  and  lives 
were  enjoying  a  glorious  game  amid  the  laudations  of 
an  ecstatic  populace,  but  the  real  work  was  being  done 
in  the  shops  and  in  the  workrooms.  The  mere  aspect 
of  tradesmen  was  enough  to  restore  the  lost  modesty  of 
officers.  Useless  to  argue  with  the  tradesmen,  to  ex- 
postulate, to  vituperate.  The  facts  were  in  their  fa- 
vour ;  the  sublime  law  of  supply  and  demand  was  in  their 
favour.  If  the  suddenly  unloosed  military  ardour  had 
not  been  kept  down  it  might  have  submerged  the  island. 
The  tradesmen  kept  it  down,  and  the  island  was  saved 
by  them  from  militarisation.  Majors  and  Colonels  and 
even  Generals  had  to  flatter  and  cajole  tradesmen.  As 
for  lieutenants,  they  cringed.  And  all  officers  were 
obliged  to  be  grateful  for  the  opportunity  to  acquire 
goods  at  prices  fifty  per  cent  higher  than  would  have 
been  charged  to  civilians.  Within  a  few  days  George, 
who  had  need  of  every  obtainable  sovereign  for  family 
purposes,  had  disbursed  some  forty  pounds  out  of  his 
own  pocket  in  order  to  exercise  the  privilege  of  defend- 
ing at  the  risk  of  ruin  and  death  the  ideals  of  his 
country. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  what  as  a  civilian  he  would 
have  described  as  his  first  "  suit  "  had  not  been  delivered, 
and  he  spent  Saturday  and  Sunday  in  most  uncomfort- 
able apprehension  of  the  telegraph-boy  and  in  studying 
an  artillery  manual  now  known  to  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands as  "  F.A.T."  On  the  Monday  morning  he  col- 
lected such  portions  of  his  kit  as  had  to  be  worn  with 
the  "  suit  "  (leggings,  boots,  spurs,  cap,  shirt,  collar, 
etc.)  and  took  them  in  a  taxi  to  the  tailor's,  intending 
to  change  there  and  emerge  a  soldier.     The  clothes  were 


IN  THE  MACHINE  375 

not  ready,  but  the  tailor,  intimidated  by  real  violence, 
promised  them  for  three  o'clock.  At  three  o'clock  they 
were  still  not  ready,  for  buttons  had  to  be  altered  on  the 
breeches ;  another  hour  was  needed. 

George  went  to  call  at  Lucas  and  Enwright's.  That 
office  seemed  to  function  as  usual,  for  Everard  Lucas 
alone  had  left  it  for  the  profession  of  arms.  The  facto- 
tum in  the  cubicle  was  a  young  man  of  the  finest  military 
age,  and  there  were  two  other  good  ones  in  the  clerks' 
room,  including  a  clerk  just  transferred  from  George's 
own  office.  And  George  thought  of  his  own  office,  al- 
ready shut  up,  and  his  glance  was  sardonic.  Mr.  En- 
wright  sat  alone  in  the  principals'  room,  John  Orgreave 
being  abroad  in  London  in  pursuit  of  George's  two 
landlords,  the  landlord  of  his  house  and  the  landlord  of 
his  office,  neither  of  whom  had  yet  been  brought  to  see 
that  George's  caprice  for  a  military  career  entitled  him 
in  the  slightest  degree  to  slip  out  of  contracts  remuner- 
ative to  the  sacred  caste  of  landlords.  Lucas  and  En- 
wright  had  behaved  handsomely  to  George,  having  taken 
everything  over,  assumed  all  responsibilities,  and  allot- 
ted to  George  more  than  a  fair  share  of  percentages. 
And  John  Orgreave,  who  in  his  rough  provincial  way 
was  an  admirable  negotiator,  had  voluntarily  busied 
himself  with  the  affair  of  the  resiliation  of  George's 
leases. 

"Not  gone,  then?"  Mr.  Enwright  greeted  him. 
*'  Well,  you'd  better  be  going  or  I  shan't  get  my  chance 
of  being  Vice-President." 

"  What  do  you  mean.'*  " 

"  Orgreave  was  at  a  Committee  at  the  Institute  this 
morning.     It  seems  you  might  have  been  the  next  Vice 
in  spite  of  your  tender  years,  if  you'd  stayed.     You're 
becoming  the  rage,  you  know," 
Am  I?  "  said  George  startled. 


(( 


376  THE  ROLL-CALL 

He  hungered  for  further  details  of  this  great  and 
highly  disturbing  matter,  but  Enwright,  jealous  by  na- 
ture and  excusably  jealous  by  reason  of  the  fact  that 
despite  his  immense  artistic  reputation  he  had  never  suc- 
ceeded in  being  even  Vice-President  of  the  Institute, 
would  say  no  more.  Indeed  he  took  malicious  pleasure 
in  saying  no  more. 

The  ageing  man,  more  hypochondriacal,  thinner,  and 
more  wrinkled  than  ever,  was  full  to  the  brim  of  one 
subject, —  India.  Somebody  at  the  India  Office  had 
flattered  him  by  showing  a  knowledge  of  his  work.  The 
India  Office  had  very  graciously  agreed  to  the  transfer 
of  the  barracks  enterprise  to  Lucas  and  Enwright,  and 
now  Mr.  Enwright  was  for  going  to  India  himself.  He 
had  never  been  there.  Indian  scenery,  Indian  manners, 
Indian  architecture  boiled  in  his  brain.  The  menace 
of  German  raiders  would  not  prevent  him  from  going 
to  India.  He  had  already  re-visited  the  photographs 
of  Indian  buildings  at  South  Kensington  Museum. 
Moreover,  he  had  persuaded  himself  that  the  erection 
of  the  barracks  formed  an  urgent  and  vital  part  of 
British  war  activity. 

At  the  same  time,  he  was  convinced  that  the  war  would 
soon  end,  and  in  favour  of  Germany.  He  assumed,  as 
beyond  doubt,  that  a  German  army  would  occupy  Paris, 
and  when  George  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  pushed  the 
enemy  back  and  magically  rendered  Paris  impregnable, 
he  nearly  lost  his  temper.  This  embittered  Englishman 
would  not  hear  a  word  against  the  miraculous  efficiency 
of  the  Germans,  whom  he  admired  as  much  as  he  hated 
them.  The  German  military  reputation  could  not  have 
been  safer  in  Potsdam  than  it  was  in  Russell  Square. 
George,  impatient  of  his  master  and  inspirer,  rose  to 
depart,  whereupon  IVIr.  Enwright  began  to  talk  at  large 
about  the  terrible  derangement  of  his  daily  life  caused 


IN  THE  MACHINE  377 

by  the  sudden  disappearance  of  his  favourite  barber, 
deemed  now  to  have  been  a  spy.  "  But  the  only  barber 
who  ever  really  understood  my  chin,"  said  Mr.  En- 
wright.  George  went,  shaking  hands  perfunctorily. 
Mr.  Enwright  was  too  preoccupied  to  wish  him  luck. 

The  clothes  were  ready  at  the  tailor's,  and  they  passed 
the  tests,  George  stood  up  disguised  as  a  second  lieu- 
tenant in  the  R.  F.  A.,  booted,  spurred,  gloved,  nicely 
managing  a  cane.  He  examined  himself  in  the  great 
mirror  and  was  well  pleased  with  his  military  appear- 
ance. In  particular  his  dark  moustache  fitted  the  role 
excellently. 

"  Now  you'll  send  the  overcoat  and  all  my  civilian 
things  down  this  afternoon,  without  fail,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  let  you  have  an  addi'ess  for  the  other  suit." 

And  he  walked  manfull}^  out  of  the  shop.  Before  he 
could  find  himself,  a  superb  sergeant-major  strode  up, 
saluted  in  the  highest  and  strictest  perfection,  and 
passed.  The  encounter  was  unfortunate.  George, 
taken  aback,  muddled  his  share  of  the  rite.  Further 
the  self-consciousness  of  the  potential  Vice-President 
of  the  Royal  Institute  of  British  Architects  was  so 
extreme  in  uniform  that  it  could  scarcely  have  been 
more  extreme  had  he  been  thrust  by  destiny  into  Oxford 
Street  naked.     He  returned  to  the  shop,  and  said : 

"  I  think  I'll  take  everything  home  myself,  to  make 
sure.     You  might  get  me  a  taxi." 

He  crept  into  his  own  house  furtively  with  his  parcels, 
like  a  criminal,  though  he  well  knew  that  the  servants 
would  be  ready  to  worship  him  as  a  new  god.  The  chil- 
dren were  evidently  out.  Lois  was  not  in  the  drawing- 
room.     He  ran  to  the  bedroom.     She  lay  on  the  sofa. 

"  Here  I  am !  "  he  announced,  posing  bravely  for  her 
inspection. 

She  did  not  move  for  a  few  seconds.     Her  eyes  were 


378  THE  ROLL-CALL 

hard  set.  Then  she  gave  a  tremendous  shattering  sob, 
and  burst  into  wild  tears.  George  stooped  to  pick  up 
a  telegram  which  was  lying  on  the  floor.  It  read :  "  You 
are  to  report  to  Adjutant  Headquarters  Second  First 
West  Midland  R.  F.  A.  Wimbledon  to-morrow  Tuesday 
before  noon."  The  Army  had  not  forgotten  him. 
Throughout  the  week  his  name  upon  various  forms  had 
been  under  the  eye  of  authority  and  at  last  the  order 
had  gone  forth. 


in 


The  next  morning,  after  a  disturbed  night,  Lois  was 
taken  ill.  George  telephoned  for  the  doctor,  and  as 
soon  as  he  had  seen  the  patient  the  doctor  telephoned 
for  the  nurse,  and  as  soon  as  the  doctor  had  telephoned 
for  the  nurse  George  telephoned  for  Laurencine.  What 
with  George's  uniform  and  approaching  departure,  and 
the  premature  seizure  of  Lois,  the  household  had  in  an 
exceedingly  short  time  reached  a  state  of  intense  excite- 
ment and  inefficiency.  Nurse  was  with  Lois ;  the  chil- 
dren were  with  cook  in  the  kitchen ;  the  other  two  ser- 
vants were  noisily  and  vaguely  active  on  the  stairs  and 
the  landings.  The  breakfast  had  been  very  badly 
cooked;  the  newspapers,  with  a  detailed  description  of 
the  retreat  from  Mons,  were  not  glanced  at.  George 
was  expecting  a  letter  from  his  mother  concerning  the 
arrangements  for  the  visit  of  Lois  and  the  children  to 
Ladderedge,  already  decided  upon,  and  no  letter  had 
come. 

At  half-past  ten  he  sent  the  parlourmaid  to  get  a 
taxi.  Having  inspected  his  luggage  in  the  hall,  he  went 
to  the  telephone  again  and  ascertained  that  Laurencine 
had  actually  started  from  home.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment  a  taxi  stopped  in  front  of  the  house.  "  She's 
been  jolly  quick,"   thought  George,  meaning  the  par- 


IN  THE  MACHINE  379 

lourmaid ;  but  going  to  the  window  he  saw  that  his  step- 
father and  his  mother  were  in  the  taxi.  He  did  not  rush 
out  to  greet  them.  He  did  not  move.  The  comfortable 
sense  of  the  perfect  reliabihty  and  benevolence  of  his 
"  people  "  filled  and  warmed  him.  They  had  not  writ- 
ten again;  they  had  just  come  themselves. 

He  affectionately  and  critically  watched  them  as  they 
got  out  of  the  taxi.  Alderman  Edwin  Clayhanger,  un- 
deniably stout,  with  grey  hair  and  beard,  was  passing 
from  middle-age  into  the  shadow  of  the  sixties.  He 
dressed  well,  but  the  flat  crown  of  his  felt  hat,  and  the 
artificial  exaggerated  squareness  of  the  broad  shoulders, 
gave  him  a  provincial  appearance.  His  gesture  as 
he  paid  the  driver  was  absolutely  characteristic, —  a 
mixture  of  the  dignified  and  the  boyish,  the  impressive 
and  the  timid.  He  had  descended  from  the  vehicle  with 
precautions,  but  Mrs.  Clayhanger  jumped  down  lightly, 
though  she  was  about  as  old  and  as  grey  as  her  hus- 
band. Her  costume  was  not  successful;  she  did  not 
understand  and  never  had  understood  how  to  dress  her- 
self. But  she  had  kept  her  figure ;  she  was  as  slim  as  a 
girl,  and  as  restless. 

George  ran  to  the  door,  which  the  feverish  parlour- 
maid had  neglected  to  shut.  His  mother,  mounting  the 
steps,  was  struck  full  in  the  face  by  the  apparition  of 
her  son  in  uniform.  The  Alderman,  behind  her,  cried 
mockingly  to  cover  his  emotion :     "  Hello  !     Hello !  " 

"  When  did  you  come  up  ?  "  asked  George  quietly, 
taking  his  mother's  hand  and  kissing  her.  She  slid  past 
him  into  the  house.     Her  eyes  were  moist. 

"  Last  night,"  the  Alderman  answered.  "  Last  train. 
Your  mother's  idea.  All  of  a  sudden.  Thought  you 
might  be  leaving." 

"  Well,  I  am,"  said  George.  "  I  have  to  report  at 
Headquarters   at  Wimbledon  by   twelve  o'clock.     It's, 


380  THE  ROLL-CALL 

rather  a  good  thing  you've  come.  Lois  is  ill.  Oh! 
Here's  my  taxi."     The  parlourmaid  had  driven  up. 

"  111 !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.   Clayhanger. 

"  Yes.  I've  sent  for  the  doctor,  and  he's  sent  for 
the  nurse.     I'm  expecting  the  nurse  every  minute." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say "   Mrs.   Clayhanger 

began. 

George  nodded. 

"  She  must  have  had  a  shock.  I  knew  what  it  would 
be  for  her.  It's  all  very  well,  but "  Mrs.  Clay- 
hanger again  left  a  sentence  unfinished. 

"  I've  sent  for  Laurencine,  too,"  said  George.  "  She 
also  may  be  here  any  minute." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  old  lady  tartly.  "  I  can  stay  as 
long  as  you  like,  you  know.  Lois  and  I  get  on  splen- 
didly." 

It  was  true.  They  had  had  one  enormous  quarrel, 
which  had  mysteriously  ended  by  both  of  them  denying 
superiorly  to  all  males  that  any  quarrel  had  ever  oc- 
curred. 

"  Well,  come  into  the  dining-room." 

"  I  think  I'll  go  up  and  see  Lois  at  once,"  said  Mrs. 
Clayhanger. 

"  The  doctor's  there." 

"What  if  he  is?" 

The  Alderman  put  in: 

"  Now  look  here,  missis.     Don't  startle  her." 

Mrs.  Clayhanger  exhaled  impatient  scorn  and  went 
upstairs. 

"  This  your  stuff?  "  the  Alderman  questioned,  point- 
ing with  his  stick  to  the  kit-bag  and  strange  packages 
on  the  hall-floor. 

"  Yes,"  said  George,  and  to  the  parlourmaid :  "  You 
can  put  it  all  in  the  taxi.  May.     Come  along  in,  uncle." 

"  Don't  hurry  me,  boy.     Don't  hurry  me." 


IN  THE  MACHINE  381 

"  Where  are  you  staying?  " 

"  Russell.  .  .  .  Bit  awkward,  this  about  Lois !  " 

They  were  now  within  the  dining-room. 

"  Yes."  In  the  presence  and  under  the  influence  of 
his  people  George  at  once  ceased  to  be  an  expansive 
Londoner  and  reverted  to  the  character  of  the  Five 
Towns. 

"  I  suppose  she'll  be  all  right?  " 

"  Doctor  seems  to  think  so." 

"  Yes.  They  generally  are."  The  Alderman  sighed 
pleasantly  and  dropped  rather  heavily  into  a  chair. 

"  Have  a  cigarette?  " 

"  No  !  "  The  Alderman  refused  regretfully.  "  I've 
got  a  new  rule  now.     I  don't  smoke  till  after  dinner." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  I'm  glad  we  came." 

"  So'm  I." 

"  You  needn't  worry  about  anything.  Your  mother 
and  I  will  see  to  everything.  I'll  go  up  and  have  a  talk 
with  Johnnie  about  the  leases." 

"  Thanks." 

"  What  about  money  ?  " 

"  I'll  write  you.     No  hurry." 

"  What  sort  of  a  woman  is  Laurencine?  I've  scarcely 
set  eyes  on  her." 

"  She's  fine." 

"She  is?" 

"  Yes." 

*'  Will  she  hit  it  off^  with  your  mother?  " 

"  Trust  her." 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  I'll  have  one  o'  them  cigarettes." 

They  smoked  in  taciturnity,  nervous  but  relieved. 
They  had  said  what  they  had  to  say  to  each  other. 
After  a  time  George  remarked : 

"  I  heard  last  night  there  was  a  chance  of  me  being 


382  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Vice-President  of  the  Institute  this  year  if  I  hadn't  gone 
into  the  Army." 

Mr.  Clayhanger  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  That'll  keep  all  right  for  later." 

"  Yes." 

Mrs.  Clayhanger  hurried  into  the  dining-room.  She 
had  removed  her  hat  and  gloves. 

"  Lois  wants  to  see  you." 

"  I  was  just  coming  up.  I've  got  to  go  now,"  he 
glanced  at  his  watch.  ' 

"Go  where?"  It  was  like  Mrs.  Clayhanger  to  ask 
a  question  to  which  she  knew  the  answer.  Her  ardent 
eyes,  set  a  little  too  close  together  in  the  thin,  lined, 
nervous  face,  burned  upon  him  challengingly. 

"  I  told  you !  I  have  to  report  at  Headquarters  be- 
fore noon, 


5> 


"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  you're  going  to  leave 
your  wife  like  this !     She's  very  ill." 

"  I'm  bound  to  leave  her." 

"  But  you  can't  leave  her." 

The  Alderman  said : 

"  The  boy's  quite  right.  If  he's  got  to  report  he's 
got  to  report," 

"  And  supposing  she  was  dying?  " 

"  Now  missis,  we  needn't  suppose  that.     She  isn't." 

"  It  would  be  just  the  same  if  she  was,"  ]Mrs.  Clay- 
hanger retorted  bitterly.  "  I  don't  know  what  men 
are  coming  to.  But  I  know  this, —  all  husbands  are 
selfish.     They  probably  don't  know  it,  but  they  are." 

She  wept  angrily. 

"  Don't  you  understand  I'm  in  the  machine  now, 
mater?  "  said  George  resentfully  as  he  left  the  room. 

In  the  bedroom  Lois  lay  on  her  back,  pale,  perspir- 
ing, moaning.  He  kissed  her,  glanced  at  the  doctor  for 
instructions,  and  departed.     Lois  was  not  in  a  condition 


IN  THE  MACHINE  383 

to  talk,  and  the  doctor  wished  her  not  to  speak.  Then 
George  went  to  the  kitchen  and  took  leave  of  the  chil- 
dren and  incidentally  of  the  servants.  The  nurse  was 
arriving  as  he  re-entered  the  dining-room ;  he  had  seized 
his  cap  in  the  hall  and  put  it  on. 

"  Better  give  me  an  address,"  said  the  Alderman. 

"  You  might  wire  during  the  day,"  George  said,  scrib- 
bling on  a  loose-leaf  from  his  pocket-book,  which  he 
had  to  search  for  in  unfamiliar  pockets. 

"  The  idea  had  occurred  to  me,"  the  Alderman  smiled. 

"  Au  revoir,  mater." 

"  But  j'ou've  got  plenty  of  time !  "  she  protested. 

"  I  know,"  said  he.  "  I'm  not  going  to  be  late.  I 
haven't  the  slightest  notion  where  headquarters  are, 
and  supposing  the  taxi  had  a  breakdown !  " 

He  divined  from  the  way  in  which  she  kissed  him  good- 
bye that  she  was  excessively  proud  of  him. 

"  Mater,"  he  said.     "  I  see  you're  still  a  girl." 

As  he  was  leaving  Mr.  Claj-hanger  halted  him. 

"  You  said  something  in  your  last  letter  about  storing 
the  furniture,  didn't  you?  Have  ye  made  anj'  en- 
quiries? " 

"  No.  But  I've  told  Orgreave.  You  might  look  into 
that,  because  —  well,  you'll  see." 

From  the  hall  he  glanced  into  the  dining-room  and 
up  the  stairs.  The  furniture  that  filled  the  house  had 
been  new  ten  years  earlier ;  it  had  been  anybody's  fur- 
niture. The  passage  of  ten  years,  marvellously  swift, 
had  given  character  to  the  furniture,  charged  it  with 
associations,  scarred  it  with  the  history  of  a  famih'  — ■ 
his  family  —  individualised  it,  humanised  it.  It  was  no 
longer  anybody's  furniture.  With  a  pang  he  pictured 
it  numbered  and  crowded  into  a  warehouse,  forlorn, 
thick  with  dust,  tragic,  exiled  from  men  and  women. 

He  drove  off,  waving.     His  stepfather  waved  from 


384  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  door,  his  mother  waved  from  the  dining-room ;  the 
cook  had  taken  the  children  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  thej  shook  their  short  chubby  arms  at  him,  smil- 
ing. On  the  second  floor  the  back  of  the  large  rectangu- 
lar mirror  on  the  dressing-table  presented  a  flat  and 
wooden  negative  to  his  anxious  curiosity. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  Wimbledon  the  taxi-driver 
ascertained  his  destination  at  the  first  enquiry  from  a 
strolling  soldier.  It  was  the  Blue  Lion  public-house. 
The  taxi  skirted  the  Common,  parts  of  which  were 
covered  with  horse-lines  and  tents.  Further  on,  in 
vague  suburban  streets,  the  taxi  stopped  at  a  corner 
building  with  a  blatant  curved  gilt  sign  and  a  very  big 
lamp.  A  sentry  did  something  with  his  rifle  as  George 
got  out,  and  another  soldier  obligingly  took  the  lug- 
gage. A  clumsy  painted  board  stuck  on  a  pole  at  the 
entrance  to  a  side-passage  indicated  that  George  had 
indeed  arrived  at  his  Headquarters.  He  was  directed 
to  a  small  frowsy  apartment  which  apparently'  had  once 
been  the  landlord's  sitting-room.  Two  officers,  Colonel 
Hullocher  and  his  Adjutant,  both  with  ribbons,  were 
seated  close  together  at  a  littered  deal  table,  behind  a 
telephone  whose  cord  instead  of  descending  modestly 
to  the  floor  went  up  in  sight  of  all  men  to  the  ceiling. 
In  a  corner  a  soldier,  the  Colonel's  confidential  clerk, 
was  writing  at  another  table.  Everything  was  dirty 
and  untidy.  Neither  of  the  officers  looked  at  George. 
The  Adjutant  was  excitedl}'  reading  to  the  Colonel  and 
the  Colonel  was  excitedly  listening  and  muttering.  The 
clerk  too  was  in  a  state  of  excitement.  George  ad- 
vanced towards  the  table,  and  saluted  and  stood  at 
attention.  The  Adjutant  continued  to  read  and  the 
Colonel  to  murmur,  but  the  Adjutant  did  manage  to 
give  a  momentary  surreptitious  glance  at  George. 
After  some  time  the  Colonel,  who  was  a  short,  stout. 


IN  THE  MACHINE  385 

bald,  restless  man,  interrupted  the  reading,  and,  still 
without  having  looked  at  George,  growled  impatiently 
to  the  Adjutant: 

"Who's  this  fellow?" 

The  Adjutant  replied  smoothly: 

"  Mr.  Cannon,  sir," 

The  Colonel  said: 

"  He's  got  a  devilish  odd  way  of  saluting.  I  must  go 
now."  And  jumped  up  and  went  cyclonically  as  far  as 
the  door.  At  the  door  he  paused  and  looked  George 
full  in  the  face,  glaring. 

"  You  came  to  me  with  a  special  recommendation.''  " 
he  demanded  loudly. 

"  Colonel  Rannion  kindly  recommended  me,  sir." 

"  General  Rannion,  sir.  Haven't  you  seen  this 
morning's  Times?     You  should  read  your  Gazette." 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"You're  the  celebrated  architect.''" 

*'  I'm  an  architect,  sir." 

*'  I  wish  you  would  condescend  to  answer,  yes  or  no, 
sir.  That's  the  second  time.  I  say  —  you're  the  cele- 
brated architect.''  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  remember  this.  When  you  come  into  the 
Army  what  you  were  before  you  came  into  the  Army 
has  not  the  slightest  importance." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Colonel  Hullocher  glared  in  silence  for  a  moment 
and  was  gone.     The  clerk  slipped  out  after  him. 

The  Adjutant  rose: 

"  Now,  Cannon,  we're  all  very  busy." 

And  shook  hands. 


386  THE  ROLL-CALL 

IV 

The  same  afternoon,  indeed  within  about  two  hours 
of  his  entrance  into  the  Army,  George  found  himself 
driving  back  from  Wimbledon  to  London  in  a  motor-bus. 

Colonel  Hullocher  had  vanished  out  of  his  world,  and 
he  had  been  sent  to  another  and  still  more  frowsy  pub- 
lic-house which  was  the  Headquarters  of  No.  2  Battery 
of  the  Second  Brigade.  He  was  allotted  to  No.  2  Bat- 
tery, subject  to  the  approval  of  Major  Craim,  the  com- 
manding officer.  Major  Craim  was  young  and  fair 
and  benevolent,  and  at  once  approvingly  welcomed 
George,  who  thereupon  became  the  junior  subaltern  of 
the  Battery.  The  other  half  dozen  officers,  to  whom  he 
was  introduced  one  by  one  as  they  came  in,  seemed  ami- 
able and  very  well-mannered,  if  unduly  excited.  When, 
immediately  before  lunch,  the  Major  was  called  away  to 
lunch  with  Colonel  Hullocher,  the  excitement  of  the  mess 
seemed  to  boil  over.  The  enormous  fact  was  that  the 
whole  division,  yeomanry,  infantry  and  artillery,  had 
been  ordered  to  trek  southward  the  next  morning.  The 
division  was  not  ready  to  trek ;  in  particular  the  Sec- 
ond Brigade  of  its  artillery,  and  quite  specially  Battery 
No.  2  of  the  Second  Brigade,  was  not  ready  to  trek. 
Nevertheless  it  would  trek.  It  might  even  trek  to 
France.  Southward  was  Franceward,  and  there  were 
those  who  joyously  believed  that  this  First  Line  Terri- 
torial Division  was  destined  to  lead  the  Territorial 
Army  in  France. 

All  the  officers  had  a  schoolboyish  demeanour ;  all  of 
them  called  one  another  by  diminutives  ending  in  "  y  " ; 
all  of  them  were  pretty  young.  But  George  soon  di- 
vided them  into  two  distinct  groups,  those  who  worried 
about  the  smooth  working  of  the  great  trek,  and  those 
who  did  not.     Among  the  former  was  Captain  Resmith, 


IN  'IHE  MACHINE  387 

the  second  in  command,  a  dark  man  with  a  positive, 
strong  voice,  somewhat  similar  to  George  in  appearance. 
Captain  Resmith  took  George  very  seriously,  and  prom- 
ised to  initiate  him  personally  into  as  many  technical 
mysteries  as  could  be  compressed  into  one  afternoon. 
Then  a  Major  Tumulty,  middle-aged  and  pale,  came 
hurriedly  into  the  stuffy  room  and  said  without  any 
prologue : 

"  Now,  I  must  have  one  of  you  chaps  this  afternoon. 
Otherwise  I  promise  you  you  won't  get  all  the  things  you 
want." 

Silence  fell  on  the  mess. 

"  The  C.  0.  isn't  here,  sir,"  said  Captain  Resmith. 

"  I  can't  help  that.     I'm  not  going  alone." 

"  Cannon,  you'd  better  go  with  Major  Tumulty. 
Major,  this  is  Mr.  Cannon,  our  latest  addition." 

George  only  knew  about  Major  Tumulty  that  he 
was  Major  Tumulty  and  that  he  did  not  belong  to  No. 
2  Battery.  So  far  as  George  was  concerned  he  was  a 
major  in  the  air.  After  drinking  a  glass  of  port  with 
the  mess,  Major  Tumulty  suddenly  remembered  that  he 
was  in  a  hurry,  and  took  George  off  and  put  him  into  a 
scarlet  London-General  motor-bus  that  was  throbbing 
at  the  door  of  the  public-house,  with  an  ordinary  civil- 
ian driver  at  the  steering-wheel  and  a  soldier  on  the 
step.  George  felt  like  a  parcel;  he  had  no  choice  of 
movement,  no  responsibility,  no  knowledge.  The  men- 
tality of  a  parcel  was  not  disagreeable  to  him.  But  at 
times,  vaguely  uneasy,  he  would  start  out  of  it,  and  ask 
himself:  "  What  is  wrong?  "  And  then  the  vision  of  a 
distant,  half-forgotten  street  called  Elm  Park  Road 
would  rise  in  his  mind  and  he  would  remember :  "  My 
wife  is  very  ill  and  everything  is  upset  at  home." 

The  motor-bus  travelled  a  few  yards  and  stopped ; 
and  out  of  yet  another  ofBce  a  soldier  carried,  stagger- 


388  THE  ROLL-CALL 

ing,  a  heavy  bag  with  a  brass  lock,  and  dropped  it  on  the 
floor  of  the  bus  between  the  Major  and  George;  and  the 
bus,  after  a  good  imitation  by  the  soldier-conductor  of 
a  professional  double  ting  on  the  bell,  went  away  afresh. 

"  That's  money,"  said  the  Major,  in  his  mild,  veiled 
voice,  pointing  to  the  bag. 

Little  by  little  George  learnt  that  the  Major  had 
*'  won  "  the  bus  "  out  of  "  the  War  Office  and  had  been 
using  it  daily  for  several  days  for  the  purpose  of  buying 
and  collecting  urgent  stores  and  equipment.  The  bus 
had  become  celebrated  within  the  Division  in  an  astound- 
ingly  short  time,  and  on  this,  the  last  day  preceding  the 
trek,  the  various  units  had  burdened  the  good-natured 
Major  with  a  multitude  of  commissions. 

"  I  try  to  keep  accounts,"  said  the  Major.  "  But  I 
know  I've  made  a  loss  every  day.  I've  been  in  the  T.  F. 
ever  since  there  was  one,  and  it  has  always  cost  me 
money.  Now,  I  shall  put  you  in  charge  of  this  little 
book." 

The  little  book  was  a  penny  account  book,  with  pages 
lettered  in  pencil  A,  B,  C,  D,  etc.,  and  items  scribbled 
on  each  page. 

"  The  letters  show  the  batteries,"  the  Major  ex- 
plained. "  I've  got  a  key  to  the  batteries  somewhere  in 
my  pocket.  And  here's  what  I  call  my  grand  list." 
He  produced  a  roll  of  foolscap.  "  I  like  everything 
orderly.  It  saves  so  much  trouble,  doesn't  it?  I  mean 
in  the  end.  Now,  as  I  buy  things  I  shall  strike  them  off 
here  and  I  want  you  to  strike  them  off  in  your  book  and 
put  down  the  price  from  the  bill.  I  always  insist  on  a 
receipted  bill.  It  saves  so  much  trouble  in  the  end.  I 
meant  to  bring  a  file  or  a  clip  for  the  bills,  but  I  forgot. 
You  understand,  don't  you.''" 

George  answered  solemnly  and  sharply : 

"  Yes,  sir." 


IN  THE  MACHINE  389 

The  Major  weakly  cried: 

"  Hall !  " 

*'  Yessir  !"     The  soldier-conductor  came  to  attention. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  to  go  to  Harrods  first?  " 

"  Yessir !  " 

"  I  think  we  might  go  and  sit  on  the  top,"  said  the 
Major.     "  It's  a  nice  afternoon." 

So  the  two  officers  went  and  sat  on  the  top  of  the 
motor-bus.  The  Major  gossiped  with  soothing  tran- 
quillity. He  said  that  he  was  a  pianoforte  manufac- 
turer ;  his  father,  from  whom  he  had  inherited,  had 
traded  under  a  German  name  because  people  preferred 
German  pianos  to  English ;  he  now  regretted  this  piece 
of  astuteness  on  the  part  of  his  father ;  he  was  trying 
to  sell  his  business, —  he  had  had  enough  of  it. 

"  Hi !  You !  "  he  called,  standing  up  quite  unexpect- 
edly and  leaning  over  the  front  of  the  bus  to  hail  the 
driver.  "  Hi !  You !  "  But  the  driver  did  not  hear, 
and  the  bus  drove  forward  like  fate.  The  Major,  who 
had  hitherto  seemed  to  be  exempt  from  the  general  per- 
turbation of  Wimbledon  troops,  suddenly  showed  ex- 
citement. "  We  must  stop  this  bus  somehow !  Why 
the  devil  doesn't  he  stop.''  I've  forgotten  the  rope- 
shop." 

"  I'll  stop  it,  sir,"  said  George,  maintaining  an  admir- 
able presence  of  mind  in  the  crisis,  and  he  rose  and 
pushed  down  the  knob  of  the  signal-rod  at  the  back 
of  the  bus.     The  bus  did  actually  stop. 

**Ah!"  murmured  the  Major,  calmed. 

The  soldier  raced  upstairs. 

"  Hall !  " 

"  Yessir." 

"  Do  you  know  a  rope  and  string  shop  near  the 
Granville  Theatre  of  Varieties  at  Walham  Green?" 

"  No,  sir." 


390  THE  ROLL-CALL 

"  Well,  there  is  one.  Tell  him  to  stop  at  the  Gran- 
ville." 

"  Yessir." 

The  Major  resumed  his  bland  conversation.  At  Put- 
ney the}'  saw  the  first  contents-bills  of  the  afternoon 
papers. 

"  How  do  you  think  things  are  going,  sir?  "  George 
asked. 

"  It's  very  difficult  to  say,"  answered  the  Major. 
*'  This  Mons  business  is  serious." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  discovery  of  the  rope-shop  involved  a  police- 
man's aid.  When  the  rope  had  been  purchased  and 
new  silver  brought  forth  from  the  bag,  and  the  receipt 
made  out,  and  the  item  struck  off  and  the  amount  en- 
tered, and  the  bus  had  started  again,  George  perceived 
that  he  would  soon  be  passing  the  end  of  Elm  Park 
Gardens.  Dared  he  ask  the  IVIajor  to  deflect  the  bus 
into  Elm  Park  Road  so  that  he  might  obtain  news  of 
Lois.''  He  dared  not.  The  scheme,  simple  and  feasible 
enough,  was  nevertheless  unthinkable.  The  bus,  with 
"  Liverpool  Street  "  inscribed  on  its  forehead,  rolled 
its  straight  inevitable  course  along  Fulham  Road,  pur- 
sued by  the  disappointed  glances  of  gesturing  wayfarers 
who  wanted  it  to  take  them  to  Liverpool  Street. 

After  about  two  hours  of  fine  confused  shopping  the 
Major  stopped  his  bus  at  a  Tube  station  in  the  north  of 
London. 

"  I  mustn't  forget  my  pens,"  said  he.  "  I  have  to 
spend  three  quarters  of  my  time  mewed  up  in  the  office, 
and  I  don't  grumble;  but  I'm  very  particular  about 
nibs,  and  if  I  don't  have  my  own  I  can  not  work.  It's 
useless  to  expect  it."     Then  to  the  soldier :  "  Hall !  " 

"  You  go  down  to  Partridge  and  Cooper's,  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Chancery  Lane  and  Fleet  Street,  and  buy  a  six- 


IN  THE  MACHINE  391 

penny  box  of  their  '  No.  6  Velvet '  pen-nibs.  You  un- 
derstand : '  No.  6  Velvet '." 

"  Yessir.     With  the  bus,  sir.?  " 

"  With  the  bus.  Here's  sixpence."  He  took  a  coin 
out  of  the  bag,  locked  it,  and  gave  the  key  to  George. 
"  And  keep  an  eye  on  this  bag,  my  boy.  You  will  then 
come  back  and  wait  for  us  —  let  me  see  —  outside  Pic- 
cadilly Tube  Station  in  Jermyn  Street." 

"  Yessir." 

The  Major  and  George  entered  the  North  London 
station  and  proceeded  to  the  lift. 

"  Tickets  !  "  demanded  the  lift-man. 

The  Major  halted  and  gazed  at  him. 

"On  service!"  said  the  Major  with  resentment  and 
disdain.  "  A  fortnight  ago  you  civilians  were  raising 
your  hats  to  us.  Now  you  ask  us  for  tickets ! 
Haven't  you  grasped  yet  that  there's  a  war  on?  Don't 
you  think  jou'd  look  better  in  kliaki ?  "  He  showed 
excitement,  as  at  every  personal  encounter. 

The  lift-man  bowed  his  head,  inarticulately  mutter- 
ing, and  the  officers  passed  into  the  lift,  having  created 
a  certain  amount  of  interest  among  the  other  passen- 
gers. The  Major  was  tranquillised  in  a  moment. 
They  came  to  the  surface  again  at  Piccadilly  Circus, 
where  at  the  lift  a  similar  scene  occurred. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  pyjamas.''  "  said  the 
Major. 

"Well,  sir " 

"  I  never  wear  them  myself.  I'm  rather  old-fash- 
ioned. But  I  have  to  buy  three  pairs  —  suits  —  for 
Colonel  Hullocher  at  Swan  and  Edgar's.  Oh  !  Bother 
it !  Have  you  any  money  ?  I  forgot  to  take  some  out 
of  the  bag." 

The  Major  purchased  the  pyjamas  with  George's 
money,  and  his  attitude  towards  the  shopman  during 


392  THE  ROLL-CALL 

the  transaction  was  defiant,  indicating  to  the  shopman 
that,  though  personally  he,  the  IMajor,  never  wore 
pyjamas,  he  was  an  expert  in  pyjamas  and  not  to  be 
gulled.  George  took  the  resulting  parcel  and  the  re- 
ceipted bill,  and  they  walked  across  to  Jermyn  Street, 
where  surely  the  bus,  with  the  sixpenny  box  of  pens,  was 
waiting  for  them.  It  was  perfectly'  magical.  As  the 
vehicle  swung  with  them  into  the  Circus  the  Major  ex- 
claimed : 

"  We're  getting  on  very  well.  What  do  you  say  to 
some  tea.^*  " 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

The  bus,  having  stopped  by  order  at  the  second  tea- 
house on  the  left  in  Piccadill}^,  was  immediately  as- 
saulted, without  success,  by  several  would-be  passengers. 
A  policeman,  outraged  by  the  spectacle  of  a  bus  sta- 
tionary at  a  spot  where  buses  are  absolutely  forbidden 
to  be  stationary,  hurried  forward  in  fury.  But  the 
Major,  instantly  excited,  was  ready  for  him. 

"  This  motor-bus  is  a  military  vehicle  on  service,  and 
I'll  thank  you  to  mind  your  own  business.  If  you've 
any  complaints  to  make,  you'd  better  make  them  to 
Lord  Kitchener." 

The  policeman  touched  his  hat. 

"  They  have  music  here,"  said  the  Major  mildly, 
entering  the  tea-house.  "  I  always  like  music.  Makes 
things  so  much  jollier,  doesn't  it-f*  " 

During  tea  the  Major  enquired  about  George's  in- 
dividual circumstances,  and  George  said  that  he  was 
an  architect. 

"  Student  of  bricks  and  mortar,  eh?  "  said  the  Major 
benevolently.  "  How  long  have  you  been  in  the 
Army.?  " 

"  Rather  less  than  half  a  day,  sir." 

The  Major,  raising  his  eyebrows,  was  very  interested 


IN  THE  MACHINE  393 

and  kind.  Perceiving  that  he  had  virgin  material  under 
his  hands,  he  began  to  shape  the  material,  and  talked 
much  about  the  niceties  of  the  etiquette  of  saluting, 
George  listened,  yet  at  intervals  his  attention  would 
wander,  and  he  would  be  in  Elm  Park  Road.  But  the 
illusion  of  home  was  very  faint.  His  wife  and  family 
seemed  to  be  slipping  away  from  him.  "  How  is  it,"  he 
thought,  "  that  I  am  not  more  upset  about  Lois  than 
I  am.^*  "  The  various  professional  and  family  matters 
which  in  his  haste  he  had  left  unsettled  were  dimin- 
ishing hourly  in  their  apparent  importance.  He  came 
back  to  the  tea-house  with  a  start,  hearing  the  Major 
praise  his  business  capacity  as  displayed  during  the 
afternoon.  The  friendly  aspect  of  the  thin,  pallid  face 
inspired  him  with  a  sort  of  emotional  audacity,  and  in 
ten  words  he  suddenly  informed  the  Major  of  his  do- 
mestic situation. 

"  Hm!  "  said  the  Major.     "  I'm  a  bachelor  myself." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  tip,"  said  the  Major,  resuming  the 
interrupted  topic.  "  War  is  a  business.  The  more 
business  capacity  you  have,  the  more  likely  you  are  to 
succeed.     I'm  a  business  man  myself." 

On  leaving  the  tea-house  they  discovered  the  military 
vehicle  surrounded  by  an  enchanted  multitude  who  were 
staring  through  its  windows  at  the  merchandise  — 
blankets,  pans,  kettles,  saddles,  ropes,  parcels,  stoves, 
baskets,  and  box  of  nibs  —  within,  while  the  policeman 
strove  in  vain  to  keep  both  the  road  and  the  pavement 
clear.  George  preceded  the  Major,  pushing  aside 
with  haughty  military  impatience  the  civihans  so  re- 
luctant to  move.  He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  in 
the  Army  for  years.  No  longer  did  his  uniform 
cause   him    the    slightest    self-consciousness. 

At  Wimbledon  in  the  dusk  the  bus  was  met  by  sev- 


394  THE  ROLL-CALL 

eral  military  waggons  each  from  a  different  unit,  and 
each  anxious  to  obtain  goods.  This  piece  of  organisa- 
tion rather  impressed  George. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  the  Major.  "  You'd  better  go 
and  report  yourself.     You've  been  a  great  help  to  me." 

George  saluted  according  to  the  Major's  own  doc- 
trine, and  departed.  At  Battery  headquarters  he  met 
Captain  Resmith. 

"  How  did  you  get  on  with  Auntie?  "  asked  Resmith 
in  his  loud,  firm  voice. 

George  winked. 

Resmith  gave  a  scarcely  perceptible  smile. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "I'm  just  going  round  the 
horse-lines.  If  you'll  come  with  me  I'll  show  you  a 
thing  or  two,  and  we  can  choose  a  mount  for  you.  Then 
after  dinner  if  you  like  I'll  take  you  through  the  orders 
for  to-morrow.  By  the  way,  there's  a  telegram  for 
you." 

The  telegram  read : 

"  Girl.  Everything  fairly  satisfactory.  Don't 
worry  too  much.     Laurencine  sleeps  here.     Nunks." 

The  telegram  was  entirely  characteristic  of  his  step- 
father,—  curt,  exact,  realistic,  kind. 

He  thought : 

"  Three  girls,  by  Jove !  " 

V 

The  early  sun,  carrying  into  autumn  the  tradition  of 
a  magnificent  summer,  shone  on  the  artillery  camps. 
The  four  guns  of  the  No.  2  Battery  of  the  Second  Brig- 
ade were  ranged  side  by  side  in  the  vast  vague  space 
in  front  of  the  officers'  hutments.  Each  gun  had  six 
horses  in  three  pairs,  and  a  rider  for  each  pair.  On  the 
guns  and  the  gun-teams  everything  glittered  that  could 
glitter, —  leather,  metal,  coats  of  horses,  faces  of  men. 
Captain  Resmith  rode  round,  examining  harness  and 


IN  THE  MACHINE  395 

equipment  with  a  microscope  that  he  called  his  eye. 
George  rode  round  after  him.  Sometimes  Captain  Re- 
smith  spoke  to  a  N.  C.  O.,  sometimes  even  to  a  man, 
but  for  the  most  part  the  men  stared  straight  in  front 
of  them  into  eternity.  Major  Craim  trotted  up.  Cap- 
tain Resmith  approached  the  Major  and  saluted,  saying 
in  his  best  military  voice: 

"  The  Battery  is  all  correct  and  ready  to  move  off, 
sir." 

The  Major  in  his  drawing-room  voice  replied: 

"  Thank  you,  Captain  Resmith." 

Silence  reigned  in  No.  2  Battery,  except  for  the  faint 
jingling  restlessness  of  the  horses. 

Then  Colonel  Hullocher  and  his  adjutant  pranced 
into  sight.  The  Adjutant  saluted  the  Major  and  made 
an  enquiry.  The  Major  saluted,  and  all  three  chatted 
a  little. 

George,  who  had  accompanied  Captain  Resmith  into 
the  background,  murmured  to  him,  as  cautiously  as  a 
convict  talking  at  exercise: 

"  He's  got  his  knife  into  me." 

"Who?" 

«  The  Colonel." 

"Don't  you  know  why?" 

"  No.     I  was  specially  recommended  to  him." 

"  Well,  that's  one  reason,  isn't  it?  But  there  was  a 
difficulty  between  him  and  the  Major  as  to  when  you 
should  come.  The  old  man  got  the  better  of  him  — 
always  does.     But  he's  a  good  officer." 

"Who?" 

"  Hullocher.      Shut  up." 

These  two  had  reached  familiarity  with  the  swiftness 
characteristic  of  martial  life. 

During  the  brief  colloquy  Resmith  had  sat  very  up- 
right on  his  horse,  the  chin  slightly  lifted,  the  head 


396  THE  ROLL-CALL 

quite  still,  even  the  lips  scarcely  moving  to  articulate. 
Colonel  Hullocher  seemed  now  to  be  approaching.  It 
was  a  false  alarm.  The  Colonel  and  liis  adjutant 
pranced  off.  After  a  long  time,  and  at  a  considerable 
distance,  could  just  be  heard  the  voice  of  the  Colonel 
ordering  the  Brigade  to  move.  But  No.  2  Battery  did 
not  stir  for  another  long  period.  Suddenly,  amid  a 
devolution  of  orders,  No.  2  Battery  moved.  The  Ma- 
jor, attended  by  his  trumpeter,  and  followed  by  the 
Battery  staff  of  range-takers,  director-men,  telephon- 
ists, and  the  sergeant-major,  inaugurated  a  sinuous 
procession  into  the  uneven,  rutted  track  leading  to  the 
side-road.  Then  the  guns  one  by  one  wheeled  to  the 
right,  the  horses'  hoofs  stamping  into  the  damp  ground 
as  they  turned,  and  became  part  of  the  procession. 
Then  the  quartermaster  and  other  N.  C.  O.'s  and  men 
joined;  and  last  were  Captain  Resmith,  attended  by  his 
trumpeter,  and  George.  Resmith  looked  over  his  shoul- 
der at  the  Third  Battery  which  under  the  leadership  of 
another  Captain  surged  behind.  There  were  nearly 
two  hundred  men  and  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  horses 
and  many  vehicles  in  the  Battery.  The  Major  was  far 
out  of  sight,  and  the  tail  of  the  Column  was  equally  out 
of  sight  in  the  rear,  for  the  total  length  of  Major 
Craim's  cavalcade  exceeded  a  mile ;  and  of  the  Brigade 
three  miles ;  and  two  other  similar  Brigades  somewhere 
in  the  region  of  Wimbledon  were  participating  in  the 
grand  Divisional  trek. 

Captain  Resmith  cantered  ahead  to  a  bend  in  the 
track,  and  anxiously  watched  a  gun-team  take  the  sharp 
curve,  which  was  also  a  sharp  slope.  The  impression  of 
superb,  dangerous  physical  power  was  tremendous. 
The  distended  nostrils  of  horses,  the  gliding  of  their 
muscles  under  the  glossy  skin,  the  muffled  thud  of  their 
hoofs  in  the  loose  soil,  the  grimacing  of  the  men  as  they 


IN  THE  MACHINE  397 

used  spur  and  thong,  the  fierce  straining  of  straps  and 
chains,  the  creaking,  the  grinding ;  and  finally  the  sway- 
ing of  the  90-millimetre  gun  coddled  and  polished,  as  it 
swung  helplessly  forward  stern  first  and  its  long  nose 
describing  an  arc  in  the  air  behind, —  these  things  mar- 
vellously quickened  the  blood. 

"  Good  men !  "  said  Captain  Resmith,  enthusiastic. 
"  It's  great,  isn't  it  ?  You  know,  there's  nothing  so 
fine  as  a  battery  —  nothing  in  the  whole  world." 

George  heartily  agreed  with  him. 

"  This  is  the  best  Battery  in  the  Division,"  said 
Resmith  religiously. 

And  George  was  religiously  convinced  that  it  was. 

He  was  astoundingly  happy.  He  thought,  amazed^ 
that  he  had  never  been  so  happy,  or  at  any  rate  so 
uplifted,  in  all  his  life.  He  simply  could  not  compre- 
hend his  state  of  bliss,  which  had  begun  that  morning 
at  6.30  when  the  grey-headed,  simple-minded  servant 
allotted  to  him  had  wakened  him  according  to  instruc- 
tions with  a  mug  of  tea.  Perhaps  it  was  the  far,  thin 
sound  of  bugles  that  had  produced  the  rapturous  effect, 
or  the  fresh  air  blowing  in  through  the  broken  pane  of 
the  hut,  or  the  slanting  sunlight,  or  the  feeling  that  he 
had  no  responsibility  and  nothing  to  do  but  blindly 
obey  orders. 

He  had  gone  to  sleep  as  depressed  as  he  was  tired.  A 
sense  of  futility  had  got  the  better  of  him.  The  excur- 
sion of  the  afternoon  had  certainly  been  ridiculous  in  a 
high  degree.  He  had  hoped  for  a  more  useful  evening. 
Captain  Resmith  had  indeed  taken  him  to  the  horse- 
lines,  and  he  had  tried  a  mount  which  was  very  suitable, 
and  Captain  Resmith  had  said  that  he  possessed  a 
naturally  good  seat  and  hands,  and  had  given  him  a 
few  sagacious  tips.  It  was  plain  to  him  that  Resmith 
had  the  Major's  orders  to  take  him  in  tutelage  and  make 


398  THE  ROLL-CALL 

an  officer  of  him.  But  the  satisfactoriness  of  the  even- 
ing had  suddenly  ceased.  Scarcely  had  Resmith  begun 
to  expound  the  orders,  and  George  to  read  the  thrilling 
words,  "  Second  Lieutenant  G.  E.  Cannon  to  ride  with 
Captain  Resmith,"  when  the  mess  had  impulsively  de- 
cided to  celebrate  the  last  night  in  camp  by  a  dinner  at 
the  hotel  near  the  station,  and  George,  fit  for  nothing 
more  important,  had  been  detailed  to  run  off  and  ar- 
range for  the  rich  repast.  The  bulk  of  the  mess  was 
late  to  arrive,  and  George  spent  the  time  in  writing  a 
descriptive  and  falsely  gay  letter  on  slips  of  yellow 
Army  paper  to  Lois.  The  dinner,  with  its  facile  laugh- 
ter and  equally  facile  cynicism,  had  bored  him ;  for  he 
had  joined  the  Army  in  order  to  save  an  Empire  and  a 
world  from  being  enslaved.  He  had  lain  down  in  his 
truckle-bed  and  listened  to  the  last  echoing  sounds  in 
the  too-resonant  corridor  of  the  hutments,  and  thought 
of  the  wisdom  of  Sir  Isaac  Davids,  and  of  the  peril  to 
his  wife,  and  of  the  peril  to  the  earth,  and  of  his  own 
irremediable  bondage  to  the  military  machine.  He, 
with  all  his  consciousness  of  power,  had  been  put  to 
school  again ;  deprived  of  the  right  to  answer  back,  to 
argue,  even  to  think.  If  one  set  in  authority  said  that 
black  was  white,  his  most  sacred  duty  was  to  concur  and 
believe.     And  there  was  no  escape.   .   .   . 

And  then,  no  sooner  had  he  gone  to  sleep  than  it  was 
bright  day,  and  the  faint,  clear  call  of  bugles  had 
pierced  the  clouds  of  his  depression  and  they  had  van- 
ished !  Every  moment  of  the  early  morning  had  been 
exquisite.  Although  he  had  not  been  across  a  horse  for 
months,  he  rode  comfortably ;  and  the  animal  was  re- 
liable. Resmith  in  fact  had  had  to  warn  him  against 
fatiguing  himself.  But  he  knew  that  he  was  incapable 
of  fatigue.     The  day's  trek  was  naught  —  fifteen  mUes 


IN  THE  MACHINE  399 

or  less  —  to  Epsom  Downs,  at  a  walk  !  .  .  .  Lois?  He 
had  expected  a  letter  from  "  Nunks  "  or  his  mother,  but 
there  was  no  letter,  and  no  news  was  good  news,  at  any 
rate  with  "  Nunks "  in  charge  of  communications. 
Lois  could  not  fail  to  be  all  right.  He  recalled  the  wise 
generalisation  of  "  Nunks  "  on  that  point.  .  .  .  Break- 
fast was  a  paradisaical  meal.  He  had  never  "  fancied  " 
a  meal  so  much.  And  Resmith  had  greatly  enheartened 
him  by  saying  sternly :  "  You've  got  exactly  the  right 
tone  with  the  men.  Don't  you  go  trying  to  alter  it." 
The  general  excitement  was  intense,  and  the  solemn 
synchronising  of  watches  increased  it  further.  An  or- 
derly brought  a  newspaper,  and  nobody  would  do  more 
than  disdainfully  glance  at  it.  The  usual  daily  stuff 
about  the  war !  .  .  .  Whereas  Epsom  Downs  glittered 
in  the  imagination  like  a  Canaan.  And  it  lay  south- 
ward. Probably  they  were  not  going  to  France,  but 
probably  they  would  have  the  honour  of  defending  the 
coast  against  invasion.  George  desired  to  master  gun- 
nery instantly,  and  Resmith  soothed  him  wuth  the  assur- 
ance that  he  would  soon  be  sent  away  on  a  gunnery 
course,  which  would  give  him  beans.  And  in  the  mean- 
time George  might  whet  his  teeth  on  the  detailed  ar- 
rangements for  feeding  and  camping  the  Battery  on 
Epsom  Downs.  This  organisation  gave  George  pause, 
especially  when  he  remembered  that  the  Battery  was  a 
very  trifling  item  in  the  Division,  and  when  Resmith 
casually  informed  him  that  a  Division  on  the  trek  occu- 
pied fifteen  miles  of  road.  He  began  to  perceive  the 
difference  between  the  Army  and  a  circus,  and  to  figure 
the  Staff  as  something  other  than  a  club  of  haughty 
aristocratic  idlers  in  red  hats.  And  when  the  Battery 
M'as  fairly  under  way  in  the  side-road,  with  another 
Battery  in  front  and  another  Battery  behind,  and  more 


400  THE  ROLL-CALL 

Artillery  Brigades  and  uncounted  Infantry  Brigades 
and  a  screen  of  Yeomanry  all  visibly  marching  over  the 
map  in  the  direction  of  Epsom,  and  bound  to  reach  a 
certain  lettered  square  on  the  map  at  a  certain  minute, 
—  when  this  dynamic  situation  presented  itself  to  the 
tentacles  of  his  grasping  mind,  he  really  did  feel  that 
there  could  be  no  game  equal  to  war. 

The  Battery  rode  easy,  the  men  were  smoking,  talk- 
ing, and  singing  in  snatches,  when  suddenly  all  sounds 
were  silenced.  Captain  Resmith,  who  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  Major,  reined  in  his  horse,  and  George  did 
likewise,  and  the  Battery  passed  by  them  on  the  left. 
The  Major's  voice  was  heard: 

"  No.  2  Battery.     Eyes  —  right!  " 

George  asked: 

"What's  this? 

"  C.  R.  A.'s  ahead,"  murmured  Resmith. 

Then  another  officer  cried : 

"  Right  section.     Eyes  —  right.** 

And  then  an  N.  C.  O.  bawled : 

"  A  sub-section.     Eyes  —  right.*' 

Then  only  did  George,  from  the  rear,  see  the  drivers 
with  a  simultaneous  gesture  twist  their  heads  very 
sharply  to  the  right,  raise  their  whips,  and  f.ing  the 
thongs  over  the  withers  of  the  hand-horses,  while  the 
section-officer  saluted. 

Another  N.  C.  0.  bawled: 

"  B  sub-section.     Eyes  —  right.** 

And  the  same  action  followed. 

Then  another  officer  cried : 

"  Left  section.     Eyes  —  right.** 

So  the  rite  proceeded. 

Resmith  and  George  had  now  gone  back  to  their 
proper  places.     George  could  see  the  drivers  of  the  last 


IN  THE  MACHINE  401 

gun  gathering  up  the  whip-thongs  into  their  hands  pre- 
paratory to  the  salute.  C  sub-section  received  the  com- 
mand. 

And  then,  not  many  yards  ahead,  the  voice  of  an 
N.  C.  O. : 

"  D  sub-section.     Eyes  —  right." 

Heads  turned ;  whips  were  raised  and  flung  outwards ; 
horses  swerved  sHghtly. 

"  Get  ready,"  muttered  Resmith  to  George. 

The  figure  of  the  C.  R.  A.,  Brigadier-General  Ran- 
nion,  motionless  on  a  charger,  came  into  view.  George's 
heart  was  beating  high.  Resmith  and  he  saluted.  The 
General  gazed  hard  at  him  and  never  moved.  They 
passed  ahead. 

The  officer  commanding  the  Third  Battery  had  al- 
ready called: 

"  No.  2  Battery.     Eyes  —  right." 

The  marvellous  ceremonial  slipped  rearwards. 
George  was  aware  of  tears  in  his  eyes.  He  was  aware 
of  the  sentiment  of  worship.  He  felt  that  he  would  have 
done  anything,  accomplished  any  deed,  died,  at  the  bid- 
ding of  the  motionless  figure  on  the  charger.  It  was 
most  curious. 

There  was  a  terrific  crash  of  wood  far  behind.  Res- 
mith chuckled. 

"  One  of  those  G.  S.  waggons  has  knocked  down  the 
Automobile  Club  '  Cross  Roads  '  sign,"  he  said.  "  Good 
thing  it  wasn't  a  lamp-post !  You  see,  with  their  eyes 
right  they  can't  look  where  they're  going,  and  the  whip 
touches  up  the  horses,  and  before  you  can  say  knife 
they're  into  something.  Jolly  glad  it's  only  the  Am. 
Col.  Jones  will  hear  of  this."  He  chuckled  again. 
Jones  was  the  Captain  commanding  the  Ammunition 
Column. 


402  THE  ROLL-CAIX 

The  order  ran  down  the  line : 

"Eyes  — /row*." 

Soon  afterwards  they  came  to  some  policemen,  and 
two  girls  in  very  gay  frocks  with  bicycles,  and  the  cross- 
roads. The  Battery  swung  into  the  great  high-road 
whose  sign-post  said,  "  To  Ewell  and  Epsom."  Another 
unit  had  been  halted  to  let  the  Artillery  pass  into  its 
definitive  place  in  the  vast  trek.  It  was  about  this  time 
that  George  began  to  notice  the  dust.  Rain  had  fallen 
before  dawn  and  made  the  roads  perfect;  but  now 
either  all  the  moisture  had  evaporated  in  the  blazing 
sun,  or  the  Battery  had  reached  a  zone  where  rain  had 
not  fallen.  At  first  the  dust  rose  only  in  a  shallow  sea 
to  the  height  of  fetlocks ;  but  gradually  it  ascended 
and  made  clouds  and  deposited  a  layer  on  the  face  and 
on  the  tongue  and  in  the  throat.  And  the  surface  itself 
of  the  road,  exasperated  by  innumerable  hoofs  and 
wheels,  seemed  to  be  in  a  kind  of  crawling  fermentation. 
The  smell  of  humanity  and  horses  was  strong.  The 
men  were  less  inclined  to  sing. 

"  Left !  "  yelled  a  voice. 

And  another: 

"  Left!  " 

And  still  another,  very  close  on  the  second  one: 

"Left!" 

"  Keep  your  distances  there !  "  Resmith  shouted  vio- 
lently. 

A  horn  sounded,  and  the  next  moment  a  motor-car, 
apparently  full  of  red-hats,  rushed  past  the  Battery, 
overtaking  it,  in  a  blinding  storm  of  dust.  It  was  gone, 
like  a  ghost. 

"  That's  the  Almighty  himself,"  Resmith  explained, 
with  unconscious  awe  and  devotion  in  his  powerful  voice. 
"  Gramstone,  Major-General." 


IN  THE  MACHINE  403 

George,  profoundly  impressed  (he  knew  not  why), 
noticed  in  his  brain  a  tiny  embryo  of  a  thought  that  it 
might  be  agreeable  to  ride  in  a  car. 

A  hand  went  up,  and  the  Battery  stopped.  It  was 
the  first  halt. 

*'  Look  at  your  watch,"  said  Resmith,  smiling, 

"  Ten  to,  exactly." 

"  That's  right.     We  have  ten  minutes  in  each  hour." 

All  dismounted,  examined  horses  for  galls  and  looked 
at  their  shoes,  took  pulls  at  water-bottles,  lit  cigarettes, 
expectorated,  coughed,  flicked  at  flies  with  handker- 
chiefs. The  two  chromatic  girls  cycled  past  slowly, 
laughing.  A  stretcher-party  also  went  past,  and 
shortly  afterwards  returned  with  the  stretcher  laden. 


VI 


It  was  after  the  long  halt  at  midday  that  the  weather 
changed.  The  horses,  martyrised  by  insects,  had  been 
elaborately  watered  and  fed,  with  immense  labour;  offi- 
cers and  men  had  eaten  rations  and  dust  from  their 
haversacks,  and  for  the  most  part  emptied  their  water- 
bottles  ;  and  the  march  had  been  resumed  in  a  temper 
captious  and  somewhat  exacerbated. 

"  Get  your  horse  away ;  he's  kicking  mine ! "  said 
Captain  Resmith  impatiently  to  George,  reflecting  the 
general  mood.  And  George,  who  was  beginning  to  ex- 
perience fatigue  in  the  region  of  the  knees,  visited  on 
his  horse  the  resentment  he  felt  at  Resmith's  tone. 

At  precisely  that  moment  some  drops  of  rain  fell. 
Nobody  could  believe  at  first  that  the  drops  were  rain- 
drops, for  the  whole  landscape  was  quivering  in  hot 
sunshine.  However,  an  examination  of  the  firmament 
showed  a  cloud  perpendicularly  overhead;  the  drops 
multiplied;  the  cloud  slowly  obscured  the  sun.     An  al- 


404  THE  ROLL-CALL 

most  audible  sigh  of  relief  passed  down  the  line.  Every- 
body was  freshened  and  elated.  Some  men  with  an 
instinct  for  the  apposite  started  to  sing: 

"  Shall  we  gather  at  the  river?  " 

And  nearly  the  whole  Battery  joined  in  the  tune. 
The  rain  persevered,  thickening.  The  sun  accepted 
defeat.  The  sky  lost  all  its  blue.  Orders  were  given 
as  to  clothing.  George  had  the  sensation  that  some- 
thing was  lacking  to  him,  and  found  that  it  was  an 
umbrella.  On  the  outskirts  of  Ewell  the  Battery  was 
splashing  through  puddles  of  water ;  the  coats  of  horses 
and  of  men  had  darkened ;  guns,  poles,  and  caps  car- 
ried chaplets  of  rain-drops ;  and  all  those  stern  riders, 
so  proud  and  scornful,  with  chins  hidden  in  high,  up- 
turned collars,  and  long  garments  disposed  majestically 
over  their  legs  and  the  flanks  of  the  horses,  nevertheless 
knew  in  secret  that  the  conquering  rain  had  got  down 
the  backs  of  their  necks,  and  into  their  boots  and  into 
their  very  knees ;  but  they  were  still  nobly  maintaining 
the  illusion  of  impermeability  against  it.  The  Battery, 
riding  now  stiffly  "  eyes  front,"  was  halted  unexpectedly 
in  Ewell,  filling  the  whole  of  the  village,  to  the  village's 
extreme  content.  Many  minutes  elapsed.  Rumour 
floated  down  that  something  was  wrong  in  front.  Cap- 
tain Resmith  had  much  inspectorial  cantering  to  do,  and 
George  faithfully  followed  him  for  some  time.  At  one 
end  of  the  village  a  woman  was  selling  fruit  and  ginger- 
beer  to  the  soldiers  at  siege  prices ;  at  the  other  men  and 
women  out  of  the  little  gardened  houses  were  eagerly 
distributing  hot  tea  and  hot  coff'ee  free  of  charge. 
The  two  girls  from  the  cross-roads  entered  the  village, 
pushing  their  bicycles,  one  of  which  had  apparently  lost 
a  pedal.  They  wore  macintoshes  and  were  still  laugh- 
ing. 


IN  THE  MACHINE  405 

At  length  George  said : 

"  If  you  don't  mind  I'll  stick  where  I  am  for  a  bit." 

"  Tired,  eh?  "  Resmith  asked  callously. 

"  Well !     I  shall  be  if  I  keep  on." 

"  Dismount,  my  canny  boy.  Didn't  I  tell  you  what 
would  happen  to  you?     At  your  age " 

"  Why  !     How  old  d'you  think  I  am?  " 

"  Well,  my  canny  boy,  you'll  never  see  thirty  again, 
I  suppose." 

"  No,  I  shan't.     Nor  you  either." 

Captain  Resmith  said: 

"  I'm  twenty-four." 

George  was  thunderstruck.  The  fellow  was  a  boy 
and  George  had  been  treating  him  as  an  equal!  But 
then  the  fellow  was  also  George's  superior  officer,  and 
immeasurably  his  superior  in  physique.  Do  what  he 
would,  harden  himself  as  he  might,  George  at  thirty- 
three  could  never  hope  to  rival  the  sinews  of  the  boy 
of  twenty-four,  who  incidentally  could  instruct  him  on 
€very  conceivable  military  subject.  George,  standing 
by  his  sodden  horse,  felt  humiliated  and  annoyed  as 
Resmith  cantered  off  to  speak  to  the  officer  commanding 
the  Ammunition  Column.  But  on  the  trek  there  was  no 
outlet  for  such  a  sentiment  as  annoyance.  He  was  Res- 
mith's  junior  and  Resmith's  inferior,  and  must  behave, 
and  expect  to  be  behaved  to,  as  such. 

"  Never  mind !  "  he  said  to  himself.  His  determina- 
tion to  learn  the  art  and  craft  of  war  was  almost  savage 
in  ferocity. 

When  the  Battery  at  length  departed  from  Ewell  the 
rain  had  completed  its  victory,  but  at  the  same  time 
had  lost  much  of  its  prestige.  The  riders,  abandoning 
illusion,  admitting  frankly  that  they  were  wet  to  the 
skin,  knowing  that  all  their  clothing  was  soaked,  and, 
satisfied  that  they  could  not  be  wetter  than  they  were 


406  THE  ROLL-CALL 

if  the  bottom  fell  out  of  the  sky,  simpl}'  derided  the  rain 
and  plodded  forward.  Groups  of  them  even  disdained 
the  weather  in  lusty  song.  But  not  George.  George 
was  exhausted.  He  was  ready  to  fall  off'  his  horse. 
The  sensation  of  fatigue  about  the  knees  and  in  the 
small  of  his  back  was  absolute  torture.  Resmith  told 
him  to  ride  without  stirrups  and  dangle  his  legs.  The 
relief  was  real,  but  only  temporary.  And  the  Battery 
moved  on  at  the  horribly  monotonous  tiring  walk.  Ep- 
som was  incredibly  distant.  George  gave  up  hope  of 
Epsom ;  and  he  was  right  to  do  so,  for  Epsom  never 
came.  The  Battery  had  taken  a  secondary  road  to  the 
left  which  climbed  slowly  to  the  Downs.  At  the  top 
of  this  road,  under  the  railway  bridge,  just  before  fields 
ceased  to  be  enclosed,  stood  the  two  girls.  Their 
bicycles  leaned  against  the  brick-wall.  They  had  taken 
off  their  macintoshes,  and  it  was  plain  from  their  cling- 
ing coloured  garments  that  they  too  were  utterly 
drenched.  They  laughed  no  more.  Over  the  open 
Downs  the  wind  was  sweeping  the  rain  in  front  of  it ; 
and  the  wind  was  the  night  wind,  for  the  sky  had  begun 
to  darken  into  dusk.  The  Battery  debouched  into  a 
main  road  which  seemed  full  of  promise,  but  left  it 
again  within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  and  was  once 
more  on  the  menacing,  high,  naked  downs,  with  a  wide 
and  desolate  view  of  unfeatured  plains  to  the  north. 
The  bugles  sounded  sharply  in  the  wet  air,  and  the  Bat- 
tery, now  apparently  alone  in  the  world,  came  to  a  halt. 
George  slipped  off  his  horse.  A  multiplicity  of  orders 
followed.  Amorphous  confusion  was  produced  out  of 
a  straight  line.  This  was  the  bivouacking  ground.  And 
there  was  nothing, —  nothing  but  the  track  by  which 
they  had  arrived,  and  the  Downs,  and  a  distant  blur  to 
the  west  in  the  shape  of  the  Epsom  Grand  Stand,  and 
the  heavy,  ceaseless  rain,  and  the  threat  of  the  fast  de- 


IN  THE  MACHINE  407 

scending  night.  According  to  the  theory  of  the  Divi- 
sional Staff  a  dump  furnished  by  the  Army  Service 
Corps  ought  to  have  existed  at  a  spot  corresponding  to 
the  final  letter  in  the  words  "  Burgh  Heath  "  on  the 
map,  but  the  information  quickly  became  general  that 
no  such  dump  did  in  practice  exist.  To  George  the  sit- 
uation was  merely  incredible.  He  knew  that  for  him- 
self there  was  only  one  reasonable  course  of  conduct. 
He  ought  to  have  a  boiling  bath,  go  to  bed  with  his 
dressing-gown  over  his  pyjamas,  and  take  a  full  basin 
of  hot  bread-and-milk  adulterated  by  the  addition  of 
brandy  —  and  sleep.  Horses  and  men  surged  peri- 
lously around  him.  The  anarchical  disorder,  however, 
must  have  been  less  acute  than  he  imagined,  for  a  soldier 
appeared  and  took  away  his  horse;  he  let  the  reins  slip 
from  his  dazed  hand.  The  track  had  been  transformed 
into  a  morass  of  sticky  mud. 

vn 

It  was  night.  The  heavy  rain  drove  out  of  the  dark 
void  from  every  direction  at  once,  and  baptised  the 
chilled  faces  of  men  as  though  it  had  been  discharged 
from  the  hundred-holed  rose  of  a  full  watering-can. 
The  Right  and  the  Left  sections  of  the  Batter}'  were 
disposed  on  either  side  of  the  track.  Fires  were  burn- 
ing. Horse-lines  had  been  laid  down,  and  by  the  light 
of  flickering  flames  the  dim  forms  of  tethered  animals 
could  be  seen  with  their  noses  to  the  ground  pessimistic- 
ally pretending  to  munch  what  green  turf  had  survived 
in  the  mud.  Lanterns  moved  mysteriously  to  and  fro. 
In  the  distance  to  the  west  more  illuminations  showed 
that  another  unit  had  camped  along  the  track.  The 
quartermaster  of  No.  2  had  produced  meagre  tinned 
meats  and  biscuits  from  his  emergency  stores,  and  had 
made  a  certain  quantity'  of  tea  in  dixies;  he  had  even 


408  THE  ROLL-CALL 

found  a  half-feed  of  oats  for  the  horses ;  so  that  both 
horses  and  men  were  somewhat  appeased.  But  the  offi- 
cers had  had  nothing,  and  the  Army  Service  Corps  de- 
tachment was  still  undiscoverable. 

George  sat  on  an  empty  box  at  the  edge  of  the  track, 
submissive  to  the  rain.  Resmith  had  sent  him  to  over- 
look men  cutting  straight  branches  in  a  wood  on  Park 
Downs,  and  then  he  had  overlooked  them  as,  with  the 
said  branches  and  with  waterproofs  laced  together  in 
pairs,  they  had  erected  sleeping  shelters  for  the  officers 
under  the  imperfect  shelter  of  the  sole  tree  within  the 
precincts  of  the  camp.  From  these  purely  ornamental 
occupations  he  had  returned  in  a  condition  approximat- 
ing to  collapse,  without  desire  and  without  hope.  The 
invincible  cheerfulness  of  unseen  men  chanting  music- 
hall  songs  in  the  drenched  night  made  no  impression  on. 
him,  nor  the  terrible  staccato  curtness  of  a  N.  C.  O. 
mounting  guards.  Volition  had  gone  out  of  him ;  his 
heart  was  as  empty  as  his  stomach. 

Then  a  group  of  officers  approached,  with  a  mounted 
officer  in  the  middle  of  them,  and  a  lantern  swinging. 
The  group  was  not  proceeding  in  any  particular  direc- 
tion, but  followed  the  restless  motions  of  the  uneasy 
horse.  George,  suddenly  startled,  recognised  the  voice 
of  the  rider;  it  was  Colonel  Hullocher's  voice.  The 
Brigade  Commander  had  come  in  person  to  investigate 
the  melancholy  inexcusable  case  of  No.  2  Battery,  and 
he  was  cursing  all  men  and  all  things,  and  especially  the 
Divisional  Staff.  It  appeared  that  the  Staff  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  hitch  of  organisation.  During  the 
day  the  Staff  had  altered  its  arrangements  for  No.  2 
Battery  of  the  Second  Brigade,  and  had  sent  an  incom- 
plete message  to  the  Army  Service  Corps  Headquarters. 
The  A.  S.  C.  had  waited  in  vain  for  the  completion  of 
the  message  and  had  then,  at  dark,  despatched  a  convoy 


IN  THE  MACHINE  409 

with  provender  for  No.  2  and  instructions  to  find  No. 
2.  This  convoy  had  not  merely  not  found  No.  2, —  it 
had  lost  itself,  vanished  in  the  dark  universe  of  rain. 
But  let  not  No.  2  imagine  that  No.  2  was  blameless ! 
No.  2  ought  to  have  found  the  convoy.  By  some  means, 
human  or  divine,  by  the  exercise  of  second  sight  or  the 
vision  of  cats  or  the  scent  of  hounds,  it  ought  to  have 
found  the  convoy,  and  there  was  no  excuse  for  it  not 
having  done  so.  Such  was  the  expressed  opinion  of  Col- 
onel Hullocher,  and  a  recital  by  Major  Craim  of  the 
measures  taken  by  him  did  nothing  to  shake  that 
opinion. 

"How  exactly  do  you  stand  now?"  the  Colonel 
fiercely  demanded. 

"  The  men  and  the  horses  will  manage  fairly  well  with 
what  they've  had,  sir,"  said  the  Major,  and  he  incau- 
tiously added,  "  but  my  officers  haven't  had  anything 
at  all." 

The  Colonel  seized  the  opening  with  fury : 

"What  the  devil  do  I  care  for  your  officers.''  It's 
your  horses  and  your  men  that  I'm  thinking  about. 
It's    to-morrow    morning    that    I'm    thinking    about. 


The  horse,  revolving,  cut  short  his  harangue. 

*'  Keep  that  d — d  lantern  out  of  his  eyes !  "  cried 
the  Colonel. 

George  jumped  up,  and  as  he  did  so  the  water  swished 
in  his  boots,  and  a  stream  poured  off  his  cap.  The 
horse  was  being  fatally  attracted  towards  him.  The 
beam  of  the  lantern  fell  on  him,  illuminating  before  his 
face  the  long  slants  of  rain. 

"  Ha !  Who's  this.''  "  the  Colonel  demanded,  steady- 
ing the  horse. 

George  smartly  saluted,  forgetting  his  fatigue. 

"  You,  is  it.f*     And  what   are  you   supposed  to  be 


410  THE  ROLL-CALL 

doing?     Look  here "  Colonel  Hullocher  stopped  in 

full  career  of  invective,  remembering  military  etiquette, 
"Major,  I  suggest  joxi  send  Mr.  Cannon  with 
some  men  to  find  the  convoy."  The  Major  having 
eagerly  concurred,  the  Colonel  went  on :  "  Take  a  few 
men  and  search  every  road  and  track  between  here  and 
Kingswood  station  —  S3'stematicall3%  Kingswood's  the 
rail-head,  and  somewhere  between  here  and  there  that 
convoj'^  is  bound  to  be.  Systematically,  mind  1  It's 
not  a  technical  job.  All  that's  wanted  is  commonsense 
and  thoroughness." 

The  Colonel's  gaze  was  ruthlessly  challenging. 
George  met  it  stiffly.  He  knew  that  the  roads,  if  not 
the  tracks,  had  already  been  searched.  He  knew  that 
he  was  being  victimised  by  a  chance  impulse  of  the 
Colonel's.  But  he  ignored  all  that.  He  was  coldly 
angry  and  resentful.  Utterly  forgetting  his  fatigue, 
he  inimically  surveyed  the  Colonel's  squat,  shining  figure 
in  the  cavalry  coat,  a  pyramid  of  which  the  apex  was 
a  round  head  surmounted  by  a  dripping  cap. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  snapped. 

By  rights  the  t3'rant  ought  to  have  rolled  off  his  horse 
dead.  But  Colonel  Hullocher  was  not  thus  vulnerable. 
He  could  give  glance  for  glance  with  perhaps  any 
human  being  on  earth,  and  indeed  thought  little  more  of 
subalterns  than  of  rabbits. 

He  finished,  after  a  pause: 

"You  will  be  good  enough,  ^Nlajor,  to  let  this  officer 
report  to  me  personally  when  he  has  found  the  convoy." 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

The  horse  bounded  away,  scattering  the  group. 

Rather  less  than  half  an  hour  later  George  had  five 
men  (including  his  own  servant  and  Resmith's)  and  six 
lanterns  round  a  cask  on  the  top  of  which  was  his  map. 
There  were  six  possible  variations  of  route  to  Kings- 


IN  THE  MACHINE  411 

wood  station,  and  he  explained  them  all,  allotting  one  to 
each  man  and  keeping  one  for  himself.  He  could  detect 
the  men  exchanging  looks,  but  what  the  looks  signified 
he  could  not  tell.  He  gave  instructions  that  everybody 
should  go  forward  until  either  discovering  the  convoy 
or  reaching  Kingswood.  He  said  with  a  positive  air  of 
conviction  that  by  this  means  the  convoy  could  not  fail 
to  be  discovered.  The  men  received  the  statement  with 
strict  agnosticism ;  they  would  not  see  things  with  the 
eye  of  faith,  fortified  though  they  were  with  tea  and 
tinned  meats.  An  offered  reward  of  ten  shillings  to  the 
man  who  should  hit  on  the  convoy  did  not  appreciably 
inspirit  them.  George  himself  was  of  course  not  a  bit 
convinced  b}'  his  own  argument,  and  had  not  the  slight- 
est expectation  that  the  convoy  would  be  found.  The 
map,  which  the  breeze  lifted  and  upon  which  the  rain 
drummed,  seemed  to  be  entirely  unconnected  with  the 
actual  facts  of  the  earth's  surface.  The  party  mounted 
tired,  unwilling  horses  and  filed  off.  Some  soldiers  in 
the  darkness,  watching  the  string  of  lanterns,  gave  a 
half-ironical  "  Hurrah."  One  by  one,  as  the  tracks 
bifurcated,  George  despatched  his  men,  with  renewed 
insistent  advice,  and  at  last  he  and  his  horse  were  alone 
on  the  Downs. 

His  clothes  were  exceedingly  heavy  with  all  the  mois- 
ture they  had  imbibed.  Repose  had  mitigated  his  fa- 
tigue, but  every  slow,  slouching  step  of  the  horse,  inten- 
sified it  again  —  and  at  a  tremendous  rate.  Still,  he  did 
not  care,  having  mastered  the  great  truth  that  he  would 
either  fall  off  the  horse  in  exhaustion  or  arrive  at  King's- 
wood, —  and  which  of  the  alternatives  happened  did  not 
appear  to  him  to  matter  seriously.  The  whole  affair 
was  fantastic ;  it  was  unreal,  in  addition  to  being  silly. 
But,  real  or  unreal,  he  would  finish  it.  If  he  was  a 
phantom  and  Kingswood  a  mirage,  the  phantom  would 


412  THE  ROLL-CALL 

reach  the  mirage  or  sink  senseless  into  astral  mud.  He 
had  Colonel  Hullocher  in  mind,  and,  quite  illogicallj, 
he  envisaged  the  Colonel  as  a  reality.  Often  he  had 
heard  of  the  ways  of  the  Army,  and  had  scarcely  cred- 
ited the  tales  told  and  printed.  Well,  he  now  credited 
them.  Was  it  conceivable  that  that  madman  of  a  Col- 
onel had  packed  him,  George,  off  on  such  a  wild  and 
idiotic  errand  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  merely  out  of 

caprice?     Were  such  doings 

He  faintly  heard  voices  through  the  rain,  and  the 
horse  started  at  this  sign  of  life  from  the  black  unknown 
world  beyond  the  circle  of  lantern-light.  George  was 
both  frightened  and  puzzled.  He  thought  of  ghosts 
and  haunted  moors.  Then  he  noticed  a  penumbra  round 
about  the  form  of  what  might  be  a  small  hillock  to  the 
left  of  the  track.  He  quitted  the  track,  and  cautiously 
edged  his  horse  forward,  having  commendably  obscured 
the  lantern  beneath  his  overcoat.  The  further  side  of 
the  hillock  had  been  tunnelled  to  a  depth  of  perhaps 
three  feet ;  a  lantern  suspended  somehow  in  the  roof 
showed  the  spade  which  had  done  the  work ;  it  also 
showed,  within  the  cavity,  the  two  girls  who  had  accom- 
panied the  Brigade  from  Wimbledon,  together  with  two 
soldiers.  The  soldiers  were  rankers,  but  one  of  the  girls 
talked  with  perfect  correctness  in  a  very  refined  voice; 
the  other  was  silently  eating.  Both  were  obviously  tired 
to  the  limit  of  endurance,  and  very  dirty  and  draggled. 
The  gay  colours  of  their  smart  frocks  had,  however,  sur- 
vived the  hardships  of  the  day.  George  was  absolutely 
amazed  by  the  spectacle.  The  vagaries  of  autocratic 
Colonels  were  nothing  when  compared  to  this  extrava- 
gance of  human  nature,  this  glimpse  of  the  subterranean 
life  of  regiments,  this  triumphant  and  forlorn  love-folly 
in  the  midst  of  the  inclement,  pitiless  night.  And  he 
was  touched,  too.     The  glimmer  of  the  lantern  on  the 


IN  THE  MACHINE  41S 

green  and  yellow  of  the  short  skirts  half  disclosed  under 
the  macintoshes  was  at  once  pathetic  and  exciting. 
The  girl  who  had  been  eating  gave  a  terrible  scream; 
she  had  caught  sight  of  the  figure  on  horseback.  The 
horse  shied  violently  and  stood  still.  George  persuaded 
him  back  into  the  track  and  rode  on,  guessing  that 
already  he  had  become  a  genuine  phantom  for  the  self- 
absorbed  group  awakened  out  of  its  ecstasy  by  the 
mysterious  vision  of  a  nightrider. 

Half  a  mile  further  on  he  saw  the  red  end  of  a  ciga- 
rette swimming  on  the  sea  of  darkness ;  his  lantern  had 
expired  and  he  had  not  yet  tried  to  re-light  it. 

"  Hi  there !  "  he  cried.     "  Who  are  you.?  " 

The  cigarette  approached  him,  in  a  wavy  movement, 
and  a  man's  figure  was  vaguely  discerned. 

"  A.  S.  C.  convoy,  sir." 

"  Where  are  you  supposed  to  be  going  to  ?  " 

"  No.  2  Battery,  Second  Brigade,  Sir.  Can't  find  it, 
sir.  And  we've  got  ofF  the  road.  The  G.  S.  waggon 
fell  into  a  hole  and  broke  an  axle,  sir." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  you're  doing?  " 

"  Waiting  for  daylight,  sir." 

The  man's  youthful  voice  was  quite  cheerful. 

*'  D'you  know  what  time  it  is .''  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  How  many  other  vehicles  have  you  got .''  '* 

"  Three  altogether,  sir.     Six  horses." 

"  Well,  I'm  from  No.  2  Battery,  and  I'm  looking  for 
you.     You've  unharnessed,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  and  fed." 

"  Well,  you'd  better  harness  up  your  other  two  carts 
like  lightning  and  come  along  with  me.  Show  me  the 
way.     We'll  see  about  the  G.  S.  waggon  later  on." 

"  It's  about  a  hundred  yards  from  here,  sir." 

For  the  second  time  that  evening  George  forgot  fa- 


414  THE  ROLL-CALL 

tigue.  Exultation,  though  carefully  hidden,  warmed 
and  thrilled  every  part  of  his  body.  Tying  his  horse 
behind  one  of  the  vehicles,  he  rode  comfortabl}'  on  hard 
packages  till  within  sight  of  the  Battery  camp,  when  he 
took  saddle  again  and  went  off  alone  to  find  a  celebrated 
inn  near  the  Epsom  Grand  Stand,  where  Colonel  Hul- 
locher  and  other  grandees  had  billeted  themselves.  The 
Colonel  was  busy  with  his  adjutant,  but  apparently 
quite  ready  to  eat  George. 

"  Ah !     You,  is  it?     Found  that  convoy?  " 

George  answered  in  a  tone  to  imply  that  only  one 
answer  was  conceivable: 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Brought  it  back?  " 

"  Part  of  it,  sir." 

He  explained  the  circumstances. 

The  Colonel  coughed,  and  said : 

"  Have  a  whiskey  and  soda  before  you  go?  " 

George  reflected  for  an  instant.  The  Colonel  seem- 
ingly had  a  core  of  decency,  but  George  said  in  his 
heart :  "  I've  not  done  with  you  yet,  my  fat  friend." 
And  aloud,  grimly : 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  sir.  But  I  shall  ask  you  to 
excuse  me." 

Both  the  Colonel  and  the  Adjutant  were  pardonably 
shaken  by  this  unparalleled  response. 

The  Colonel  barked : 

"Why?     Teetotaller?" 

"  No,  sir.  But  I've  eaten  nothing  since  lunch,  and  a 
glass  of  whiskey  might  make  me  drunk." 

Colonel  Hullocher  might  have  off*ered  George  some 
food  to  accompany  the  whiskey,  but  he  did  not.  He 
had  already  done  a  marvel ;  a  miracle  was  not  to  be 
expected.  He  looked  at  George  and  George  looked  at 
him. 


IN  THE  MACHINE  416 

"  No  doubt  you're  right.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  sir."     George  saluted  and  marched  off. 

vin 

He  prepared  to  turn  in.  The  process  was  the  sim- 
plest in  the  world.  He  had  only  to  wrap  a  pair  of 
blankets  round  his  soaked  clothes,  and,  holding  them 
in  place  with  one  hand,  creep  under  the  shelter.  There 
were  four  shelters.  The  Major  had  a  small  one,  nearest 
the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  the  others  were  double  shel- 
ters, to  hold  two  officers  apiece.  He  glanced  about. 
The  invisible  camp  was  silent  and  still,  save  for  a  couple 
of  lieutenants  who  were  walking  to  and  fro  like  young 
ducks  in  the  heavy  rain.  Faint  fires  here  and  there  in 
the  distance  showed  how  the  troops  were  spread  over  the 
Downs.  Heaven  and  earth  were  equally  mysterious  and 
inscrutable.  He  inserted  himself  cautiously  into  the 
aperture  of  the  shelter,  where  Resmith  already  lay 
asleep,  and,  having  pushed  back  his  cap,  arranged  his 
right  arm  for  a  pillow.  The  clammy  ground  had  been 
covered  with  dry  horse-litter.  As  soon  as  he  was  set- 
tled the  noise  of  the  rain  ceaselessly  pattering  on  the 
waterproof  became  important.  He  could  feel  the  chill 
of  the  wind  on  his  feet,  which,  with  Resmith's,  projected 
beyond  the  shelter.  The  conditions  were  certainly  as- 
tounding. Yet,  despite  extreme  fatigue,  he  was  not 
depressed.  On  the  contrary  he  was  well  satisfied.  He 
had  accomplished  something.  He  had  been  challenged, 
and  had  accepted  the  challenge,  and  had  won.  The  de- 
meanour of  the  mess  when  he  got  back  to  the  camp 
clearly  indicated  that  he  had  acquired  prestige.  He 
was  the  man  who  had  organised  an  exhaustive  search 
for  the  convoy  and  had  found  the  convoy  in  the  pitchy 
blackness.  He  was  the  man  who  had  saved  the  unit 
from  an  undeserved  shame.     The  mess  had  greeted  him 


416  THE  ROLL-CALL 

with  warm  food.  Perhaps  he  had  been  lucky, —  the 
hazard  of  a  Hghted  cigarette  in  the  darkness !  Yes,  but 
luck  was  in  everytliing.  The  credit  was  his,  and  men 
duly  gave  it  to  him,  and  he  took  it.  He  thought  almost 
kindly  of  Colonel  Hullocher,  against  whom  he  had  meas- 
ured himself.  The  result  of  the  match  was  a  draw,  but 
he  had  provided  the  efficient  bully  with  matter  for  re- 
flection. After  all,  Hullocher  was  right.  When  you 
were  moving  a  Division,  jobs  had  to  be  done,  possible  or 
impossible ;  human  beings  had  to  be  driven ;  the  super- 
natural had  to  be  achieved.  And  it  had  been !  That 
which  in  the  morning  existed  at  Wimbledon  now  existed 
on  the  Downs.  There  it  laj',  safe  and  chiefly  asleep,  in 
defiance  of  the  weather  and  of  accidents  and  miscar- 
riage!   'And  the  next  day  it  would  go  on. 

The  vast  ambitions  of  the  civilian  had  sunk  away. 
He  thought,  exalted  as  though  by  a  wonderful  dis- 
covery : 

"  There  is  something  in  this  Army  business!  " 

He  ardently  desired  to  pursue  it  further.  He  ar- 
dently desired  sleep  and  renewal  so  that  he  might  rise 
afresh  and  pursue  it  further.  What  he  had  done  and 
been  through  was  naught,  less  than  naught.  To  worry 
about  physical  discomforts  was  babyish.  Inviting  vis- 
tas of  knowledge,  technical  attainment,  experience  and 
endurance  stretched  before  him,  illuminating  the  night. 
His  mind  dwelt  on  France,  on  Mons,  on  the  idea  of 
terror  and  cataclysm.  And  it  had  room  too  for  his  wiffe 
and  children.  He  had  had  no  news  of  them  for  over 
twenty-four  hours ;  and  he  had  broken  his  resolve  to 
write  to  Lois  every  day ;  he  had  been  compelled  to  break 
it.  But  in  the  morning,  somehow,  he  would  send  a  tele- 
gram and  he  would  get  one. 

"  If  it's  true  the  French  Government  has  left 
Paris " 


IN  THE  MACHINE  417 

The  nocturnal  young  ducks  were  passing  the  shelter. 

"And  who  says  it's  true?  Who  told  you,  I  should 
like  to  know !  " 

"  The  Major  has  heard  it." 

"  Rats !  I  lay  you  a  fiver  the  Allies  are  in  Berlin 
before  Christmas." 


THE    END 


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